


The Worlds in You

by malarak



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-03-17 05:15:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 77,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3516734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malarak/pseuds/malarak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek and the pack fight for their lives against Deucalion and the Alpha pack. A Teen Wolf AU where werewolves and Beacon Hills exist in a world parallel to the one Stiles lives in, but Stiles can open the portal between the two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> I came up with the idea for the portals during my numerous train trips back and forth between San Francisco and Sacramento. I had no idea that the story idea would turn into a Teen Wolf fanfic. I hope you enjoy.

This was nearly the time and nearly the place. Perhaps this was also near where they had died, but that's not why they were here again. The one tile had just been a piece of fired clay, but the second tile made it clear that the date and time and location were important. They had come here on the same day at the same time for the last two years, and they had discovered nothing. But D'Eric was not one to give up, especially when it appeared that someone else was interested in their annual trips. 

D'Eric watched as his sister K'Aura climbed over the loose scree that covered the slopes of the Blessed Mountain, very aware that, as they had suspected, they had been followed and that pursuers were not far behind. The message on the tiles had to be important if agents of the Duke were following them. Although how the Duke had even found anything out still puzzled D'Eric. Nevertheless, this was not the time to dwell on that. They had agreed that should they be followed, it was D'Eric's job to buy K'Aura time and distance in order to climb the mountain.

D'Eric sniffed the air. They had done their best to choose a circuitous route to this side of the mountain, but he could sense four humans and at least one werewolf. Perhaps there were two, but the scents of the wolves were muddled. No matter. D'Eric held still, giving them a chance to come a little bit closer, the better to lure them down a side ravine. D'Eric looked down the hillside, and for the moment, he didn't see any figures scrambling across the slopes of broken rock. Instead, he was able to take in a partial view of the city of Calatu below and the waters of Hishman Bay beyond. The Blessed Mountain, a rough translation of the name the native peoples had given to the city, was rumored to actually be covering a slumbering dragon. D'Eric, who had often been accused of being a daydreamer when he was young, had a hard time imagining any creature under the dirt being able to rest under the frequent footfalls and rockfalls of the numerous hikers that climbed the peak.

Calatu was a thriving if not exactly attractive city. It had a deep-water port, and ships regularly came across the bay to deliver goods that were then carried east to Macon and beyond on trains pulled by steam locomotives. There were distinctive neighborhoods that were especially clearly demarcated from above: the residential neighborhood of the prosperous merchants of Calatu was almost a field of green owing to the numerous trees that lined the streets; the commercial boulevards were lined with large multi-story buildings, the sun reflected off the rows of windows; factories billowing dark grey smoke were shadowy hulks that loomed over the empty land around them; the rest was a mix of single-family homes, apartment buildings, small shops, and the occasional park. 

D'Eric caught sight of movement below him to the left. There were, in fact, two wolves, with four humans not far behind. D'Eric turned away and began to run down the ravine - quietly, but not so quietly that they wouldn't pick up on his steps. Gratifyingly, he heard the group change direction, following him down the ravine rather than up the hillside after K'Aura.

D'Eric began to run more recklessly, running across loose rock and causing stones to clatter away from his footsteps. The idea was to sound like prey and to keep their interest. D'Eric rounded a boulder, sure that the wolves were close behind him. He allowed himself to half-shift, claws emerging and canines protruding from his now elongated snout.

What was taking them so long? The wolves should have caught up to him by now. Suddenly, D'Eric realized that the wolves were not behind him anymore. There were just the exhalations of the four humans. The wolves must have figured out the diversion and had turned to follow his sister.

There followed a short time when D'Eric couldn't think about that. The four humans were armed with weapons that had been laced with wolfsbane, at the least debilitating and at the worst deadly to werewolves like him. But he was faster and more agile, and using their uncertain footing on the loose rock and sloped hillside, D'Eric quickly took out the two at the rear by hurtling over the boulder he was behind to drop them from above.

One of the humans at the front swung around and a crossbolt flew past D'Eric's cheek, barely missing him. Not surprisingly, the Duke's agents were well-trained to take on wolves. D'Eric grabbed a fist-sized rock in hand as he pushed himself off of the side of the boulder and launching himself in the air. A kick momentarily stunned the shooter's companion and distracted him enough that he didn't see the rock coming at him. The rock thunked loudly against the side of his skull, and he fell to the ground.

D'Eric suddenly pulled up short at the lance of pain in his thigh. He instinctively grabbed the object embedded in his thigh, a metal shiv, and yanked it out, but he could already feel the immobilizing properties of the wolfsbane that it had been coated with. With a flick of his wrist, he fired the shiv back at the only human left standing, and it embedded itself in his neck. D'Eric barely noticed the human crumpling to the ground as he, himself, felt his knees begin to give way.

Mercifully, this was a paralytic and not a poison. Apparently, the Duke had wanted them disabled and not dead. D'Eric braced himself on his knees for a few seconds before his arms, too, lost the ability to hold him up. He fell sideways, but he used his last bit of muscle control to turn so that he could see up the mountain after he fell.

It took a few seconds, but D'Eric finally spotted K'Aura high up the hillside. She was near the top. A flash of motion drew D'Eric's eyes to the two wolves in pursuit. From this distance, they were largely indistinguishable, two young blond males, climbing after K'Aura with a similar grace and gait. A flash of reflected light revealed that they, too, were armed with metal shivs. The saving grace was that as werewolves themselves, these shivs would not be laced with wolfsbane. That, however, was the only good thing. They were clearly gaining on K'Aura.

D'Eric watched as she pulled herself up the outcrops of bare rock that formed the peak of the mountain, throwing her leg above her to leverage her body up. He could see her scan behind her for the pursuing wolves, and he could see the alarm on her face when she realized they were actually level with her position, having come up to the peak along a different trajectory. D'Eric realized that there was nowhere for her to protect herself at the peak and nowhere to run.

When the darkness shimmered into existence just feet from the edge of the rock where K'Aura was standing, D'Eric couldn't believe his eyes. He had actually not believed that the message on the tiles meant anything. He had simply returned because he didn't know what else to do even though he told the pack that he hoped that the message from his mother was leading them to a way to defeat the Duke. Whatever this was, it was a dark oval against the otherwise light grey cloud-laden winter sky, the edges of the oval alive and pulsing and throbbing. D'Eric could see movement in the darkness, flashes of green and reflected light.

In a suspended moment, D'Eric saw his sister, trapped at the peak, her face blank with surprise at the dark object before her. He also saw the two wolves, less than twenty feet away from her, the tension in their bodies broadcasting their intent to leap over the remaining distance. Strangely, D'Eric did not feel fear for his sister. For whatever reason, the fact that something totally extraordinary had happened when the tiles had said it would gave him hope.

The moment broke as K'Aura launched herself into the air and towards the darkness in the sky. D'Eric watched as her body seemed to vanish in the darkness, as if she had dropped into a hole in the sky.

There was a crash as the bodies of the wolves landed on the rock where K'Aura had been a split second before, and there was a bit of scrambling as they clawed for purchase, but their unchecked momentum was too much, and D'Eric watched as they went over the edge and tumbled down the hillside, crashing into rocks along the way. They would be a bit rattled by such a rough fall, but if D'Eric had to guess, these wolves would recover with little trouble.

He was feeling the ability to control his limbs coming back to him. He should get up to the peak to check on his sister before the blond wolves recovered, and he definitely needed to get away as soon as possible. He looked back up to the peak and realized that the dark oval had disappeared, taking his sister with it.


	2. Stiles on the Train

Stiles paid for his bottle of Corona and settled into one of the quarter-round seats of the cafe car of the Capitol Corridor. He treated himself to a beer for the return journey from Sacramento every time he had to deal with the Department of State Architects, something he had been doing now for nearly nine months. 

Most of the trips were very uneventful, bordering on tedious, and they usually ended with the certainty that Stiles would need to make the trip up to Sacramento from San Francisco again in the not too distant future to meet with the DSA on exactly the same issue.

But this trip was different. This time he had an errand. A task. A puzzle to solve. He felt kind of foolish about the whole thing, but he was going to do it anyway.

He sipped his Corona, his left leg bouncing up and down, a nervous tic that drove even his father crazy. No one was around to be put out, so he let his leg do what it wanted. It gave his nervousness an outlet, even though he really couldn't say what he had to be nervous about.

He had been planning this trip for months now, and soon he was going to see what happened. Actually, realistically, nothing should happen, but there was this remote possibility that something might. It would take just a second, and then he'd probably just continue on his way back to San Francisco, feeling a bit foolish but that would be about it.

He wouldn't get to the Richmond BART station for another hour. There was no point thinking about the rock in his pocket and the dragon on the wall. He took another sip and thought about his job.

In actuality, he enjoyed the train trips between Richmond and Sacramento. There was something nice about the pace of them - fast enough to get him there in a timely fashion, slow enough to be able to watch the world go by without getting dizzy. In addition, Stiles could honestly say that he enjoyed his work with the San Francisco Department of Building Inspection. Stiles worked for a sub-department of the city agency, one that specialized in dealing with condemned or abandoned buildings of historical significance, working through the process of determining ownership, exercising eminent domain when necessary, figuring out how best to resuscitate the building and to what use, and then dealing with the Department of State Architects on the plans for rehabilitation. It wasn't quite what he had expected to be doing when he finished his degree in history and urban planning, but it all seemed to make sense in retrospect.

He had been with the Department of Building Inspection for three years now, and he was just a bit more than a year shy of thirty. He had found a job that he enjoyed. His dad was in good health and doing well as one of the sheriffs of the city of Santa Rosa to the north of San Francisco. His best friend, Scott, was still his best friend in spite of everything and living with him while working just across the Bay as a veterinarian in Oakland. He was largely able to subscribe to a sustainable lifestyle and only drove when he went up to visit his dad. Overall, life was good even if he was decidedly unsuccessful in the romance department. 

He sipped on his beer as he watched the brown hills of late fall go by. He had a new graphic novel loaded on his tablet, but as often happened on his train trips, even when he didn't have a foolish task planned, he felt more introspective and retrospective than in the mood to read, so he sipped and let his thoughts wander. 

The view outside the window was still mostly gently rolling hills covered with foliage dried by the months of summer heat and not yet green from the hoped for winter rains. There were power lines and occasional buildings, but this stretch of the trip was about as unpopulated as any section of the general San Francisco Bay Area could be. It was deceptively bland. But as Stiles' mother had told him, appearances could definitely be deceiving. Under one of those hills could live a kingdom of trolls, mining the earth for precious metals and gems. That apparently empty hillside could be hiding a passage way into another world or a shortcut to another part of the Earth. All around us, unseen yet ever present could be spirits and ghosts. Stiles took a larger gulp of beer to counter the tightness in his throat. It still took him by surprise how vivid his thoughts of his mother could be even so many years after her death. He didn't bother to wipe the wetness at his eyes, waiting until he was done to take care of it all at once. He held his eyes open rather than squeeze his eyes closed to force out the wetness as tears. 

He didn't know he would be thinking about his mother, but he wasn't particularly surprised either. His wandering thoughts usually took him to Scott, or Lydia, or his mother. Today it was his mom, which really made sense given what he was going to do. She had been gone just about sixteen years now, far longer than the time Stiles had had with her. His memories of her wasting away from cancer were vague, probably a purposeful clouding on the part of his memory. Rather, his most vivid memories of her were of her painting or sculpting in clay and most importantly, to Stiles, sitting quietly with him while he listened to her voice and to her stories. Stiles knew that he was a handful as a child. He was easily distracted, dangerously curious, and talkative to most everyone's annoyance. Somehow, Stiles' mother, Dora, knew that the best way to bring Stiles back into a constructive focus was to tell him a story. Only then did Stiles hold still, his over-active mind focusing on creating the world that his mother's words described. There were tales of dragons and doorways into magic kingdoms. Battles between werewolves and an evil prince who wanted to rule the world. Lands where there was magic or where you could see the ghosts of the dead. 

Stiles’ right hand had reached into his pocket to pull out a smooth, almost round, metallic rock, about the size of a quarter, and a ceramic tile, about 2-inches square, that he was sure was the work of his mother. He put the tile on the table next to his beer and rolled the rock in his fingers, comforted by its familiar weight and size, how right it felt against his palm, strangely warm and solid. Stiles had no idea what the rock was. It was red and more or less opaque with a dark, almost black, occlusion running across one side. His mother had shown it to him when he was pretty young and told him it was a dragon's eye. She said that it was magic and that she needed to keep it safe. Sadly, the rock was not magic enough to save Stiles' mother. After his mother's death, Stiles had forgotten about the rock for a time. Then, one day, he was rummaging in his closet for a shirt, and he had found a small dark blue cloth pouch on top of his stuff. Inside the pouch was the dragon's eye as well as the square ceramic tile. On one side of the tile was the head of a dragon glazed in shades of green with a red eye, and on the reverse a date and time, ‘Dec 12 - 5p’ and an unfamiliar word, ‘Calatu’. The rock had reminded him in a very nice way of his mother, and he had put it in his pocket that day, and it seemed content to stay there ever since. The tile he had left in the pouch and put in a desk drawer. But today, it felt right to have the tile with him as well given what he was going to do.

The train was now following the curve along the Bay, rushing past tiny hamlets up against the hillside that flowed down to the Bay, clapboard buildings that lined a single street that disappeared up the hillside to connect the hamlet to the city of Martinez on the other side. The Bay glistened through the window on the other side of the train car, and Stiles could see the reflection off the window before him. And then there was a stretch of nothing - no housing, no roads - just the evergreen covered hill facing him and the water behind him. A stretch where Stiles' cell phone service always went out. For a minute, Stiles felt like he was in a totally different place. 

Another gentle curve and the hillside disappeared to be replaced by houses and parks and factories and street-lighted multi-lane streets. The train had reached the edge of Richmond, where Stiles would change from the Amtrak Capitol Corridor train to the Bay Area Rapid Transit train, BART, which would bring him the rest of the way to San Francisco. The beer bottle was empty in his hands, and he wasn't surprised at all to discover that he had rubbed the moisture on the surface of the bottle into the label, dissolving a good portion of the label into small white balls of paper pulp that covered his fingers and littered his lap. 

Stiles put the rock and tile back into his pocket. He threw the bottle into the recycling bin, shouldered his messenger bag, brushed the paper pulp off the table and seat into his hand to throw into the trash, and gave his seat one last look to make sure he hadn't left anything behind. The waters of the Bay vanished in an instant behind a hill of buildings, the signal that Stiles' transfer station was about one minute away. He brushed his hands free of pulp over the garbage can, pushed his way through the cafe car's doors, and joined the queue down the stairs to the train door exits. 

Stiles followed the flow of people down the stairs and into the connecting lobby between Amtrak and BART. He flashed his BART pass over the sensor, and the orange gates parted to let him through into the station proper. The crowd of transfer commuters moved to the right to take the escalators up to the BART platform, but Stiles did not follow them. In front of him was a green dragon. Actually, it was a wall covered in ceramic tiles that formed the image of a dragon, done in bas relief in a 70s style that made Stiles think of the buildings of It's a Small World at Disneyland. The dragon was done in squares and circles in bright tones of emerald and gold. 

Stiles had noticed this dragon the very first trip he had taken to and from Sacramento, and since that day in March, he had not stopped thinking about the strange little square tile. His mother had told him many stories of dragons, and one coincidentally was called Richmond, like the city, because it had brought riches to the people of the town. 

Sadly, Stiles reflected, the Richmond of today was not that well off. The city had a larger share of poverty and crime than many Bay Area cities, and within a block of the BART/Amtrak station, the area had a distinctly keep-on-your-guard feel. Perhaps, Stiles noted, the dragon wasn't watching over the city anymore. 

Not long after that first trip to Sacramento, Stiles had a crazy thought, and it had not let him go. He had long been bothered by the words on the back of the tile. It was totally normal for his mother to put a date on a piece that she had made, but 'Dec 12' normally would mean 'December 2012'. However, his mother had died over a decade prior. And why would she have put a time on a piece? And what in the hell was 'Calatu'? Stiles came to what he felt was the only possible conclusion - it was a date and time. A date and time having to do with the dragon's eye and a green dragon.

Nine months later, it was Friday, December 12. It was a minute before 5p according to his cell. He looked at the dragon on the wall before him. Its eye was just a depression in the fired clay, golden green glaze glistening in the socket just like the rest of its twisting body. Stiles’ fingers rotated the round rock in his pocket, the crazy thought that wouldn’t leave his mind - perhaps it just needed an eye. A dragon's eye. 

Before Stiles could consciously think how stupid this must look to the commuters rushing past behind him, he had taken the round red rock and fit it into the empty socket. It nestled into the concavity, and Stiles let it go. It looked like it belonged there. As he suspected, nothing happened. The dragon had not come to life or begun talking to him inside his head. It had been a foolish errand after all. All the same, to mark the occasion, he pulled out his cell phone to take a picture of the now sighted dragon, when there was a disturbance to his left. Stiles turned, and where he was sure there was usually a solid wall was an irregular space of rock and sky and a body flying through the air and towards him. 

Stiles had no time to react, and next thing he knew, the body slammed into him, knocking him backwards. He regained his balance, holding the body by the arms, clearly a young woman, when he noticed figures flying into sight in that patch of sky in the wall, and then they were gone. All that remained was the view of a rocky hillside and grey winter clouds like those outside the BART station.

Stiles looked down as the body he was holding jerked. Suddenly, he was looking into the face of a young woman with green eyes, breathing heavily, and, he realized, bleeding profusely from the back of her upper arm, the blood trickling over Stiles' fingers, which were holding on to her arm. It was a piece of metal that resembled the tip to an arrow, embedded in the flesh above the elbow.

"Oh my god," cried Stiles, "where did you come from? Was someone was trying to kill you?" 

"No," replied the girl, "but we need to get away from here." She turned to look to her left, and Stiles followed her gaze. "They might come back at any moment." 

There was a station announcement about the imminent departure of the next BART train heading south. Stiles snapped into clarity. He retrieved his dragon's eye, and he noticed that the opening had immediately begun to lose shape. "Come on," he urged, pulling on the girl's uninjured arm and leading her towards the stairs between the escalators. She didn't hesitate and began to run up the stairs, catching up to Stiles and staying with him up to the platform.

Stiles watched behind her even as he directed her into a waiting car, wondering if her pursuers could still be chasing her now that the window had been closed. The lights above the doors were already flashing, which meant they would be closing momentarily. Stiles stood in the doorway, watching the stairs, hoping whoever they were had not made it into the station. 

Stiles kept his eye on the stairs until the train gathered speed and pulled away. 

Stiles exhaled and turned his attention away from the door windows, and he was suddenly aware that he had just experienced a rip in the universe through which an injured girl being pursued by some fiends had crashed into him and then been dragged into a BART train, effecting a narrow escape. He couldn’t imagine that the date and time on the tile was about this. It didn’t make sense.

He looked around, unsure of where the girl had gone, and he realized that no one was looking at him. No one realized what had just happened. It was either that or these were particularly cautious urban train commuters who learned to look away from everything in order to avoid unwanted attention. 

Stiles looked over the seats and spotted the girl seated about three rows forward of the door. Trying to appear nonchalant, Stiles strolled up the aisle and then slipped into the seat besides the girl. By the time he was seated, he realized she was staring at him. 

"What?" Stiles hissed, looking himself over for something to invite such a stare. Seeing nothing, he looked up again to find her still fixated on him but with a definite air of incredulity on her face. "What?" Stiles hissed again. 

She seemed to snap back into focus. "Sorry," she said, blinking. "This is not what I was expecting at all." 

Stiles raised his eyebrows at that comment. "You were expecting me?" he asked, tensely raising his hands slightly in question, not wanting to attract undue attention. 

She looked away and out the window. "Not exactly." She paused, and Stiles couldn't help but notice how her forehead crinkled as she thought. She turned back to look at Stiles, this time in a more normal fashion. "I was expecting something. I guess I'm just surprised." 

Stiles could see his puzzled expression reflected in the window. That was pretty close to what he had been thinking, and he schooled his face back into a semblance of normalcy. "Right," he said. His mind was starting to spin as question after question began to occur to him. But he wasn't an attention-challenged teenager anymore. He was a tax-paying adult, and it was clear to him what his priority should be. "Okay. I have a dump-truck-load of questions, and I should probably be more leery of someone I don't know, but I think our first priority is to take care of that nasty wound in your arm." There was a serious amount of blood that was now dripping into a puddle on the vinyl train seat.

"Oh, this?" said the girl casually as she grasped the arrowhead firmly between her fingers and yanked it out. 

"Fuck!" cried Stiles, already reaching over ready to press down on the wound to staunch the blood. "You can't just do that! You'll bleed out."

The girl was unnaturally calm about the whole injury, and Stiles felt a little guilty for the satisfaction he got in seeing her pale a bit. "Don't worry," the girl said in a clearly forced level tone. "It'll only bleed for a while, and then it'll be fine." 

"Uh, I don't think so," stammered Stiles in alarm as the blood seemed to, if anything, drip faster. Thank god the seat was vinyl. At least they could clean it. 

The girl had become noticeably paler, and she pulled her arm forward to look at the wound, grimacing as she pulled. Her expression changed from neutral to concernedly puzzled. "It should already be healing. I don't understand." 

"You had a two-inch piece of metal buried in your arm. What's not to understand?" 

"Why isn't it healing?" the girl said with a definite hint of panic in her voice. "This isn't right." 

Another ton of questions joined the maelstrom in Stiles' mind, but this was not yet the time for them. He thought about getting off at Macarthur Station, which was only a block from Kaiser Hospital. Then he realized there was the distinct possibility that there might be issues with the girl’s identity and maybe she was on the run or even an axe murderer and the shitload of complications that would cause. No. It was on to Plan B. 

Stiles unbuckled his belt and pulled it free. By this point, the girl was nearly white, probably in panic since she hadn't yet really lost that much blood. She just stared at Stiles blankly as he put what he hoped was a clean handkerchief against the wound and then wrapped the belt around her arm several times, pulling it tight to staunch the flow of blood. He fastened the hook through the buckle. Step one complete. 

"Okay," he said in what he hoped was his calm voice. "I'm taking you to a friend who can treat your arm. Are you okay with that?" 

She continued to stare at him for a moment, and then she gave a slight nod. Stiles nodded in return, relieved that at least this was all consensual. He pulled out his cell phone and hit speed dial. It rang a few times and then went to message. "Scottie. I'm coming in with a stray that needs your delicate touch. One of the two-legged variety. We're on BART already past Macarthur, so we should be at 19th Street in a few minutes. See you, like, really soon." 

Stiles grimaced as he picked up the triangular weapon. There was no way he was going to leave the weapon in the sticky mess that already covered the vinyl seat. He slid the weapon in between the pages of a ruled notepad to make sure that it didn’t actually stab him. The train pulled into the 19th Street Station, and Stiles gently nudged the girl along. He realized he still didn't know even her name. As they rode the escalator up to the street level, he said, "Hey. My name is Stiles. I'll need to introduce you to my friend. What do you want me to call you?" 

He thought he heard her say ‘Cora’. "Cora. I can work with that." She didn't argue with him, so he figured he had heard her right. Stiles chose an exit gate far from the staffed booths and keeping Cora close, he hurried the two of them out together when the exit gates opened. Moving seemed to help Cora regain some composure, but Stiles had to admit that the belt wrapped around her arm looked more like a tourniquet than an arm accessory. They rode another escalator up to the street. 

"This way," Stiles said, using the hand under her elbow to guide her in the right direction. Cora was now looking around, definitely not the princess in distress she was on the train. Stiles wondered if she was actually healing. It was a short three blocks to the Animal Hospital where Scott worked, not far from Oakland's Lake Merritt. Stiles pushed the door open and put his body in front of Cora's when he saw people in the waiting area. Thank god Scott was at the front desk talking to the receptionist. 

"Scottie," said Stiles in greeting. "This is my friend, Cora. I told you on the phone that I was going to introduce the two of you." 

Scott rolled his eyes, out of sight of the receptionist, but he played along. "Nice to meet you, Cora. Why don't we go back to the break room. I was just getting ready to take five." 

The receptionist gave Stiles a quick finger wave in passing, and Stiles reciprocated. He kept an arm around Cora's shoulder to hide view of the blood soaked cloth and the belt and followed Scott into the back. 

Scott led them to an examination room rather than the break room and closed the door. 

"What the hell Stiles?" said Scott as soon as the door was closed. "What did you do? Hey, is that supposed to be a tourniquet?" 

"I didn't do anything," Stiles said defensively, in reflex. "Doesn't matter. You can chew me out for my substandard first aid skills later. You need to take a look at Cora now." 

Cora had seemed fine a moment ago, but as soon as the door had closed, she had slumped into a chair. Scott gave Stiles an accusing look but then turned his attention on Cora. 

Stiles looked on and marveled at how his friend morphed from the dork that Stiles fragged unmercifully in WoW into his professional persona. He talked softly to Cora, who nodded, and soon he was releasing the belt, removing the blood soaked handkerchief, and cutting the sleeve away from the wound. Scott turned and gave Stiles a wide-eyed look, and Stiles gave him one in return to acknowledge that he knew this was a pretty serious injury. The next steps were sadly familiar to Stiles, who had sustained his share of serious injuries as a child. The cleaning of the wound, Cora's grimaces, the topical analgesic, the stitches, and then the bandage. Throughout, Scott talked in a gentle steady voice to Cora, the voice that kept dogs and cats calm, who nodded and gradually looked more pulled together. 

"I'll write you a prescription for a round of antibiotics," Scott said pointedly looking at Stiles rather than Cora, and Stiles nodded. "Stiles can pick up the prescription. The wound is deep, but as far as I can tell, mostly damage to muscle tissue. It'll heal with time, but your arm is going to feel pretty weird for a while." 

"God," Cora suddenly moaned, dropping her head into her hands. Scott looked at Stiles in alarm. "I'll never live this down," Cora continued. She looked up at the two of them. "You can never, never, tell D'Eric about this." 

"Who is Derek?" asked Stiles, seeing the same question on Scott's face. 

"My brother," said Cora. "When you meet him, you can't say anything." 

"Uh, okay," agreed Stiles hesitantly. "And why am I going to meet your brother?" 

"Because you will," said Cora emphatically. And that seemed to be that. 

Scott gestured, and Stiles knew that Scott actually had to get back to work. With Cora patched up, they could proceed at a more normal pace. Stiles could ask some questions, and he could figure out what to do. 

"Thanks, Scottie," said Stiles, making the motions of preparing to leave. 

Cora picked up on that and stood up. "Thank you," she said to Scott. 

Scott made a phone gesture which Stiles knew meant that they would be talking about this extensively when Scott got off work. "No problem," Scott said aloud. Suddenly, Scott said, "Wait a second. You'll need this," and rushed from the room. 

Stiles and Cora looked at each other wondering, but a few seconds later, Scott returned with a red hoodie with the Lake Merritt Animal Hospital name and logo across the back. Stiles had three of them in different colors. "She can't walk around with her shirt all messed up and the bandage." 

"Good thinking," nodded Stiles. Cora said another thank you and put the hoodie on. "Thanks again, Scottie. See you at home." 

Scott walked the two of them back to the reception area, and Stiles could feel his eyes following them as they walked out the door and onto the street.


	3. Cora Adjusts to the Non-Magical World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the [green dragon](http://www.urbanrail.net/am/snfr/BART-Richmond-07.JPG) at the Richmond BART station. Clearly the eye is too big, but it was my inspiration.

D'Eric stood on the rocky outcrops at the peak. He found a few spots on the rock that had been chipped by flying shivs. He found a shiv itself. But of his sister, there was no sign. D’Eric was still stunned that something had happened. The third time maybe was the charm. But was the hole in the sky what they were supposed to find? Where did K'Aura go? D'Eric's senses picked up nothing here on the peak. He couldn't spend any more time here. The blond wolves would be back soon, and he needed to be gone. He turned and headed back down the mountain. He would wait for K'Aura back at the house in Beacon Hills. K'Aura was a big girl. She could take care of herself.

\- - - - - 

It was clear to Stiles that Cora was reviving. The painkillers Scott had given her must have kicked in because she no longer looked distracted by pain. Rather, she was now picking up on her surroundings and looking uncertain. She had not yet asked Stiles any questions, but he figured it was just a matter of time. She simply stared around her while they waited in line to fill the prescriptions. Food, thought Stiles, is what's needed. Both because she was undoubtedly hungry and because he needed something to lubricate some conversation. He led her into a coffee shop a few doors down from the pharmacy.

"I'm thinking you need to have something," Stiles began, "and I'm not even sure what we should be doing next." He gestured at the display case. "Does anything look good to you?" 

Cora looked into the illuminated display case and pointed at a pastry. 

"That's apple inside. Does that work for you?" 

Cora nodded. Stiles also ordered two cups of tea, one black and one herbal. 

With the drinks and food in hand, Stiles led them to a table by the window. He put the pastry in its bag in front of Cora, and then he lifted the lids off the two cups of tea. "I'm good with either, so you choose." 

Stiles watched Cora sniff each steaming cup and choose the black tea. She gave it a tentative sip but pulled back right away. It was clearly still too hot. 

"I can't believe this is so hot. Do you have milk and sugar?" Cora asked. 

Stiles smiled. Finally words from this mysterious woman. "Be right back." 

When he returned, Cora was already well into the apple turnover. She paused when he returned and he handed her the packets of sugar. "Tell me when," said Stiles as he began to pour milk into her tea. 

"That's good," said Cora, watching him. "Thank you." 

"No problem," answered Stiles with what he hoped was an easy-going tone. He returned the milk and sat back down. He sipped his still way-too-hot black currant tea and watched her finish the turnover. She licked her fingers. 

"Do you want another?" 

Cora looked down, and Stiles could see her flush slightly. 

"Don't worry about it," said Stiles. "I'm thinking it's normal to be hungry after getting injured and losing blood." 

Cora looked up. "Yes, please." 

Stiles could feel that she was opening up. Another pastry should do it. 

As Stiles predicted, when Cora had finished the second turnover and half of her tea, she spoke. It wasn't quite what he had expected to hear, however. 

"Is there so much magic here that you use it to provide lights everywhere?" 

"What?" responded Stiles. "What magic?" 

Cora pointed at the display case and at the wall sconces. "The illumination magic." 

Stiles followed her finger and felt perplexed. "What magic? Those lights? That's just electricity." 

"What is ee-lek-tri-si-ty?" 

"You don't have electricity where you're from? 

Cora rolled her eyes. "Clearly not since I'm asking you about it." 

Stiles was glad some sass was back, that was a good sign in any injured person, but he was confused. "Wait. Seriously? You don't have electricity?" 

Cora shrugged. "I'm not even sure what it is." 

Stiles wondered if she was pulling his leg. "You know. The flow of positive and negative electrons..." Cora's blank look stopped him. "What country are you from?" 

"Finally," she said, rolling her eyes. "Something I can answer. Can you get me another?" She held out her now empty cup. 

Stiles went and got a refill of hot water on reflex. He put the cup in front of Cora and sat himself back down, totally attentive. 

"Well," said Cora, sounding a bit hesitant now, "I'm not from here." 

"No shit," mumbled Stiles. 

Cora gave him a nasty look that was easy to interpret. He shut up. "I mean I'm not from this world." 

Stiles pulled back, surprised. "Oh, my god. You're an alien. What was that? A teleportation window?" 

Cora looked surprised. "It was a window, a portal between worlds. You should know that. You're the portaljack. You opened it." 

"I, what?" Stiles thought back to what had happened. "You mean the thing with the dragon's eye?" 

"I don't know what you did. But you did it right when my mother said you would." 

Stiles was convinced every other thing out of Cora's mouth was going to surprise him. "Wait. Your mother knew I was going to make this portal at the BART station?" 

"I’m not sure," Cora said, hesitating again. 

"So what did she say? Trust me and jump into this hole in the sky when I tell you to?" 

Cora looked away. "It was a tile that had the word ‘Calatu’. And a date. And a time." 

A breath that Stiles had been about to take stuck in his throat. “A little square tile. With a dragon on it.”

Cora nodded.

“Like this?” asked Stiles as he took his tile out of his pocket.

It was clear that Cora was surprised. “Oh my god. You have one, too. So this really is it.”

Stiles looked at Cora, who soon was looking at him back. “So what does this all mean?” asked Stiles. “What did your mother tell you?” 

"She wasn't around to ask." 

Stiles knew what that meant. He was well-versed in euphemisms for death. "Sorry," he said. "It's hard when people don't have time to say everything they need to." 

"We didn’t even know it meant anything. It was just something that sat on her desk. And then we found P’Eter, and he had one of these tiles, too," said Cora. 

“But you don’t know what they meant. Other than the obvious – you know, with the date and the time and the dragon.”

“Oh,” said Cora, her face showing a sudden understanding. “The dragon at the train station.”

“Yeah,” said Stiles. “Do you know what ‘Calatu’ means?”

“It’s the name of a city, and the mountain in the middle of the city. That’s where I was when you opened the portal.”

Stiles shook his head. “This is just totally freaky. Your mom and my mom and P’Eter…”

“My uncle,” Cora clarified.

“Your uncle,” Stiles continued, “each had one of these tiles, all with a date, a time, and a location on them. But none of us knows what it all means.”

Cora nodded. “My parents have been dead for sixteen years.”

Stiles sighed. “And my mom has been gone for fifteen. So there’s no one to ask.” Stiles paused. “Wait. You said your uncle had one, too. Why don’t you ask him?”

Cora shook her head. “He can’t remember. When we found him, he was in a facility recuperating from some terrible accident. He was starting to regain bits and pieces, like his name, but he had no idea why he had the tile.”

"And," Stiles continued, almost afraid, "this was in some other world. That's connected to this one through a portal. That I opened. Because I'm a portal-something." 

"A portaljack. That's what you call someone who can open portals. Actually, D'Eric and I thought we were going to find a magic object. The portal was a complete surprise." 

"Derek. You mentioned him before." 

Cora nodded. "My brother. He and I are working on this together." 

"Whatever this is," agreed Stiles, although he wasn't exactly sure what he was in agreement about. He sighed. It was getting on to rush hour, and they needed to do something. He still didn't have any great ideas, and he figured Cora was going to crash suddenly in the not-too-distant future. He should probably take her back to their apartment and then work out what to do next. He'd better let Scott know. 

Stiles pulled out his cell phone and fired off a quick text. He waited for a minute, and when there was no reply forthcoming, he figured Scott was with a patient. 

"What's that?" asked Cora, pointing at Stiles' cell.

"Uh," said Stiles, contemplating how to explain cell phones to someone who didn't even know what electricity was. "It's a device that uses electricity to communicate and get information." 

Cora smiled. "A few people can do that with magic in my world. Most just use a pigeon." She looked around. "It looks like everyone has one of these devices." 

"You are in a coffee shop, so that's probably true in here." 

"What kind of information?" Cora asked, looking at Stiles' screen. 

"Almost anything," responded Stiles. 

"What does this world look like?" 

Stiles called up Google Maps and switched to satellite view. He slid the phone closer to Cora. "This is what this part of the world looks like from space. The blue dot is here, Oakland." 

Cora looked at the small image, and Stiles could see amazement growing on her face. 

"What?" asked Stiles. 

Cora looked up at him, mouth open. "It's not exact, but this is almost the same as a map would be of the area where I live." Cora paused, clearly thinking. "Where is the place where you opened the portal?" 

"Richmond?" Stiles slid the view a bit north. "Here." 

Cora nodded. 

"You're going to tell me that where you were on your world corresponds with Richmond, aren't you?" said Stiles. “Calatu.”

Cora nodded in agreement. “The city of Calatu is at the base of Calatu, the mountain. We also call it the Blessed Mountain. There’s no sign of a mountain on your map, but the shape of the land and waterways are almost the same." 

"Wow," was all Stiles could say. Cora was telling him that there was a parallel world that was geographically similar to his. A world where magic exists. A world his mother clearly knew about. And he was able open a portal between the two. That was a lot to take in. 

He shook himself. "I think we should head out. For tonight, I think you'll have to stay with me and Scott. It's already dark, and you're still injured. We can figure out what to do when we get to our place." 

Cora nodded, and they threw away their garbage and headed out into the evening streets filled with commuters. 

\- - - - -

Cora was mesmerized by the blue dot that moved across the map on Stiles' phone as they made their way home. She gave a glance at the automatic train doors and the escalator, but she seemed to be taking it in stride. Her focus was on the map. 

"That's the shape of Hishman!" she exclaimed as the map readjusted as they moved west. "Are we crossing the water? I can't see out of the car." 

Hishman corresponded to San Francisco, Stiles noted. "The train goes in a tunnel under the water. Cars travel on a bridge above the water." 

Cora nodded. Stiles had already explained cars. 

They got off at 24th Street Station, in the center of the city. They stopped at El Faro for burritos (Cora had carne asada) and carried them to Stiles' building just off 24th up the hill. They climbed to the third floor, and Stiles let them in. 

"Let me put these in the oven to keep them warm until Scottie gets home," Stiles said, heading for the kitchen. "Make yourself at home." 

Stiles set the oven at 175 and put the foil-wrapped burritos on the middle rack. He washed his hands at the kitchen sink and then filled two glasses with water. He was going to grab two beers, but he remembered Cora was on antibiotics and painkillers. 

He carried the glasses into the living room. Cora was seated on the sofa, looking like she was on the verge of falling asleep. 

"Oh, thanks," muttered Cora, rousing herself. She took a sip of water. 

"Maybe you should eat now and then go to bed," suggested Stiles. Cora nodded. Stiles showed her how to unwrap the burrito, and she polished it off in minutes. While she ate, Stiles changed the sheets on his bed and the towels in his bathroom. He also found a new toothbrush courtesy of his dentist. 

He showed Cora how to use the shower and gave her a t-shirt and some flannel pajama bottoms, and before Scott got home, her light had gone out. 

Stiles explained as much as he could to Scott over their dinner, and Scott managed to finish his burrito with his normal speed in spite of gaping in astonishment through most of Stiles' narration. 

"You think she's on the level?" Scott asked. 

"She's not just some crazy person," Stiles answered. "I did see that hole, the portal thing, and she came out of nowhere. And remember. I have a tile, too. If she’s crazy, so am I." 

Scott didn’t respond, but his look basically said and that’s news? "So what are you going to do?" Scott asked.

Stiles shrugged. "I'm thinking the only thing to do is go back to Richmond BART and see if I can't get her back to her world."


	4. Unlucky in Love

When Stiles had awoken from a not uncomfortable night on the sofa, Scott had been in the kitchen sipping a cup of coffee. It was almost nine, and it was the weekend. These pieces all fit together and made sense to Stiles. He would think about the pieces that didn’t make sense later when he was fully awake.

Scott poured a cup for Stiles, adding his usual two teaspoons of sugar and enough milk to classify the color as milk chocolate. Stiles took a sip in contentment.

"Cora's still asleep. I'm thinking she's in worse shape than she's aware. I doubt it's a good day to try to go back through the portal thing."

Stiles nodded. "Maybe I'll take a trip up there to reconnoiter while she's still out. You good to stay here with her?"

"No problem. I have a few episodes of Supernatural to catch up on."

Stiles put two Eggo waffles in the toaster, already thinking ahead. Life at the department was slowing down with the approach of the end of the year. He was already taking the balance of Christmas week off. If needed, he could easily call in some personal days this week if needed. He'd play it by ear.

He gave Scott one of the waffles and put another two in to toast. "Cora seemed really weird about her injury," commented Stiles. "I wonder what's going on with that."

"I'll see what I can find out when she wakes up."

They finished their waffles over the morning paper. "You get ready," Scott said when Stiles moved to clean up the breakfast stuff. "I'll clean up. If you head out now, you can be back for lunch."

\- - - - -

An hour later, Stiles was standing in the entry area at the Richmond BART Station. Passenger traffic was weekend light. There was no sign of the goons who had been after Cora, but Stiles pulled his hoodie low over his face just in case. He wasn't taking any chances that they hadn't opened their own portal while Stiles and Cora had been gone.

Stiles found himself standing in front of the dragon, his fingers already stroking the stone in his pocket. Did he really open the portal? Or was that a freak coincidence with a specific day and time. There was only one way to find out.

Stiles gave a quick look around. The two people walking through had their heads bent over their cell phones, and the station agent was reading the paper. Stiles took the dragon's eye and fit it into the empty eye socket. He immediately looked left. Sure enough, the wall was beginning to morph into an opening on to hillside, rock, and sky. Stiles yanked the stone out of the socket and put it back into his pocket. No sense attracting more attention than necessary on either side of the portal.

The ride back was uneventful, and en route to the apartment, he picked up some bread and sandwich fixings for lunch.

He opened the door to the sound of laughter. A second later, Scott's head popped out of the kitchen. "You'll never guess, Stiles! Cora is a werewolf!" Scott looked totally delighted by the prospect, and that was the first indication that Scott was falling. Delight led to fascination, which led to infatuation – Scott’s usual pattern. That was definitely true with his high school sweetheart, Alison. Scott never did things by halves, thought Stiles. That's what Stiles loved about him.

Stiles followed Scott's head back into the kitchen. "How are you feeling?" Stiles asked Cora. She looked reasonably rested, and the smile on her face gave off a sense of vitality and energy. "And what's with you being a werewolf? Really?"

"That's why she was so messed up about being injured," piped in Scott. "Werewolves have, like, super healing powers and senses and stuff, so in her world, she would have healed from those ninja triangles right away."

"So no wolfiness on this side of the portal?" Stiles asked.

"I'm afraid not," conceded Cora. “I’ve tried to shift, but nothing.”

"Cora's been telling me about her world. There are even dragons!" Scott's fanboy nature was infectious in its enthusiasm, and Stiles had to smile, too.

"Do they patrol the skies like in Pern? Or are they more like the beasts in Harry Potter?" Stiles asked.

Scott nodded. "That took a bit of explaining. Actually, they sound like they are underground. More Smaug like, but no treasure guarding."

"In my world," said Cora, "there are three dragons in this area. There's the one under the Blessed Mountain. There's one under the Sacred Mountain. And there's one under the Golden Mountain."

"The Blessed Mountain. That's the one that's kind of where Richmond is here, right? Calatu?" said Stiles.

"Correct," agreed Cora. "And the Sacred Mountain is where your city of Sacramento is. And the Golden Mountain is here in San Francisco."

Stiles couldn't help but notice the slightly dopey look Scott had on his face as he listened to Cora speak. Stiles couldn't deny that Cora was very easy on the eyes, but he still felt a pang of jealousy. He was such a lousy friend.

"So what do dragons really look like?" asked Stiles as he unpacked his groceries. Scott made happy vocalizations at the sight of the bread, cheese, and deli meats.

"I don't know anyone who's actually seen them," said Cora.

"Wait," said Stiles. "Then how do you know they are there?"

"We just do. Each of the mountains conceals the living body of a dragon. They are sources of great magical power."

"What kind of power?"

"We're not really sure," said Cora a bit sheepishly. "My mother knew all these things, but she died before she passed on the knowledge."

"So you were on the Blessed Mountain, Calatu, looking for something, but you don't know what it is." Stiles was automatically fixing Scott's sandwich the way he liked it with lots of mustard and just a hint of mayo.

"But something powerful," said Scott, “and probably magic.” He smiled enthusiastically when Stiles handed him his ham and cheddar.

"What would you like for a sandwich?" Stiles asked Cora.

"Have a bite and see if you like it," smiled Scott, holding his sandwich up to Cora's mouth.

They looked pretty damn cute together Stiles had to admit, and the signs were that Cora was not opposed to Scott's attentions. It really figured, thought Stiles. He was the one caught up in the middle of a magical adventure, but Scott was the one who was enjoying the benefits of flirting with their houseguest from another world. Why were things so easy for other people thought Stiles somewhat miserably?

"That's very good," said Cora thoughtfully. "But maybe a bit less of the yellow sauce."

"Mustard," clarified Stiles even as he proceeded to build her sandwich.

Shortly thereafter, the three of them were eating contentedly, crunching on potato chips between bites of sandwich. Cora seemed particularly fond of the chips.

"What's not to like?" said Stiles.

Stiles summarized his foray to the Richmond BART station, and with the food consumed, it was clear Cora needed another lie down.

"God," she said in frustration. "How can you stand how weak you feel?"

"It's what we have," Stiles answered.

Scott helped Cora back to Stiles' room, while Stiles tidied up. He wasn't going to dwell on the two of them, so of course he dwelled on his relationship with Scott instead.

He had always loved Scott. Just like he loved his dad and his mom. And that had been fine for years. But then his mom had fallen ill, and Stiles did not deal well with that. He and Scott had been in middle school, and Stiles was a terror. He screamed at people at the slightest expression of sympathy over his mother's illness. He told his mom over and over that she couldn't leave them. Stiles stopped doing his school work, and when people let things go because of his mom's condition, he would throw fits that, in retrospect, Stiles realized must have torn his mom and dad to pieces. The only person Stiles didn't yell at was Scott. Scott didn't offer any sympathy. He was simply there, and Stiles hung on to him like the lifeline that he was.

Stiles couldn't even cry when his mom finally died. Scott just held him as he sat there numb.

In high school, Scott met Alison. This was the first time Stiles witnessed the stages of Scott falling in love. And Stiles had to say that it was love. They were amazing together, and while there was a little spark of jealousy on Stiles' part, Alison and Scott were too good to him for that to grow.

In their second year of college, Stiles met Lydia. She was a fiery redhead that was way too smart for Stiles. She was coming off of a relationship with an unfairly handsome and wealthy jock who had decided to end their relationship since he was going to study in England, and she decided she needed the opposite of what she had had. Stiles was too besotted with Lydia to care why she had chosen him.

They lasted longer than Scott and Alison later told him they had predicted, but that was largely because Stiles couldn't let go. According to Lydia, they were together barely a year. According to Stiles, they made it nearly to 18 months. It was intense and amazing, but Lydia frankly told Stiles that he was just too stifling. Lydia didn't need or want Stiles to be with her 24/7, but the more she asked for space, the more Stiles crowded in. He couldn't help it. He couldn't deal with the idea of losing someone again.

Stiles moped for a good year after their breakup, 18 months if one used Lydia's time frame of reference, and the thing that snapped him out of it was too horrible to imagine.

In their senior year, Alison was mugged on her way back from the college, and for no reason anyone could discern, had been fatally shot.

Scott was nearly inconsolable, and Stiles snapped out of his pity party to be there for his best friend. Stiles finished his degrees, but stayed on with Scott at UC Davis while Scott finished his veterinary program. Stiles was there to hold Scott when he would break down suddenly in tears. And Stiles made sure to provide updates to Scott's mom.

Scott was in his final months of vet school when it happened. They were playing WoW, tangled on the couch like usual, discussing life as they fragged enemies on screen. And Scott had said that it would be so much easier if he and Stiles became a couple because they already knew each other, and Scott couldn't imagine doing the dating thing ever again.

And Stiles had leaned over and kissed him, first on the cheek, and then, when Scott had turned to look at him with bright eyes, on the lips. And suddenly, what was an unspoken possibility became a reality. Outwardly, they seemed the same inseparable pair, but now there was sleeping in the same bed and kissing and naked cuddling and sex. And over time, what made Stiles a great friend did not make the translation into being a great boyfriend. Stiles held on too tight. Stiles always needed to be there. Stiles was afraid of losing Scott.

They were, at that point, living in the apartment in San Francisco, a building owned by a cousin of his dad's else they would never have been able to afford it. And Stiles came home from his newish job with the city, and Scott had sat him down and told him that they were breaking up.

Stiles had begun to protest, but Scott had been firm and right. If they stayed in a romantic and physical relationship, they would not last. Scott would have to move away. If, on the other hand, they broke up and went back to being BFFs, they would survive and still have each other. Stiles wisely listened to Scott and the physical part, which was always a bit awkwardly incestuous feeling, ended, but they stayed friends and roommates.

More than two years later, here they were. With Scott making cow eyes at Cora. Which was fine with Stiles. More than fine. Scott deserved to have a beautiful young woman in his life again. And Stiles would be happy for him. He really would.

\- - - - -

Cora, unsurprisingly, adapted to life in this non-magical world quite well. Figures, thought Stiles. She's a werewolf, so she's probably a warrior princess, too. Battle-honed. Able to navigate new situations with ease. Stiles still had some bad moments with the DVR, but Cora was able to navigate cable TV as if she had been doing so her whole life.

Scott and Stiles went to work on Monday since Cora was still not 100%. Given that there might be baddies lurking at the Richmond Station in spite of everything, Cora would be better off being able run and dodge. Instead, Scott gave her a TV lesson, a key to the apartment, and a pay-as-you-go cell phone in case something happened while she was out of doors.

Stiles warned his boss that he might have to take a few personal days, and she didn't even question it.

It was kind of Cora's last night in this world (although not if either she or Scott had anything to say about it - the tragic parting of the lovers vibe was definitely working in their favor), so they decided it was burgers and beer. The walked down to Kettle Cask, and Scott looked even more besotted, if that was even possible, when Cora polished off a half-pound Angus beef burger as if it were an appetizer. She also knocked back two pints of beer.

"I like this part," laughed Cora, clearly tipsy. "Werewolves can't really get drunk. You can drug us, but it's not fun like this."

"A definite minus in your world then," said Stiles.

"But I could still get drunk, right?" asked Scott with concern.

Stiles laughed, spitting out only a little beer. He was a bit tipsy himself.

"Of course, silly. You're human. You can definitely still get drunk in my world." Cora patted his arm reassuringly and took another drink.

"I really wish I could come with you tomorrow," moped Scott. His tentative inquiry at work had been met with incredulity and a definite ‘no’ - on pain of death. There was no season as fraught with pet anxieties, injuries, and paranoia as Christmas.

"I'm just opening up the portal, and off she goes." One of them needed to stay sensible. The one who was not in love. "And we agreed that if there are no complications, we'll go visit after Christmas, as long as those goons are not still a problem."

"But that's not until December 27th!" Scott moaned. He was always more dramatic when he had been drinking. Not that he wasn't dramatic when he was sober.

"So maybe you should do something for me to remember you by?" said Cora in what was unmistakably a sultry purr.

Scott let his own mouthful of beer spray out in surprise. "Like maybe now?"

"Like maybe now," agreed Cora.

Scott looked at Stiles and pulled out a twenty. "Finish your beer and give us twenty minutes head start. You can sleep in my room tonight."

Scott grabbed Cora's arm and they were out the door.

"I actually hate both of you," muttered Stiles into his pint.

\- - - - -

They all left the apartment together the next morning. Stiles had slept in Scott's room since it afforded more insulation against the sounds coming from inside Stiles' room. Like the BFF he was, coffee and toast and sliced apples were ready when the tousled love birds made their way in to breakfast.

There was a bit of cuddling between 24th Street in the city and 19th Street across the Bay, and then there was a significant kiss which Stiles looked away during since he was still trying to be a better friend. And then Scott was off the train, and Cora and Stiles rode the twenty-odd minutes up to Richmond in silence.

They were standing in front of the green ceramic dragon. They had spent a good ten minutes scoping out the situation, and it was a bit anticlimactic that goons were not going to jump out of the shadows and pursue them.

"You know," Cora said, "maybe we need you to find the powerful magical object."

"You mean go through with you?" Stiles asked, his first thought being that Scott would kill him. "But I'm not magic."

"You can open portals," Cora said simply. "That counts for something. You can just come through for a few minutes and then come back."

Stiles didn't even say okay. He just put the dragon's eye into its now familiar place.

The portal opened, and they both walked through it before too many people noticed. As soon as they were both on the rocky peak, the portal vanished.

"Shit!" said Stiles at a sudden realization. "The dragon's eye is still on the other side. What do I do?"

"I'm not so sure about that," said Cora, taking Stiles' hand and lifting it up. On his finger was an unfamiliar ring, but it was clearly made of the same stone as the dragon's eye.

"Cool," said Stiles, waving his beringed hand around to catch the light. "It followed me here." Stiles was still admiring the ring when he heard Cora's intake of breath. "What's up?" Stiles asked, looking over.

Cora was pointing to a spot on the surface of one of the rocks on the peak. It was glowing blue.


	5. The First Medallion

Stiles leaned forward and touched the rocky surface. He realized that it wasn't rock at all – it was a bit too smooth, just glazed to blend in. He felt around the blue glow, and he found a thin space all around it.

“Do you still have that arrow thing that you pulled out of your arm?” he asked Cora.

Cora nodded and pulled a tape-wrapped piece of cardboard from her jacket pocket. Stiles had removed the weapon from his briefcase when they had gotten to his apartment, rinsed off the blood, and then carefully wrapped it in cardboard and tape. Cora removed the cardboard and handed the weapon carefully to Stiles. Stiles worked the point of the arrow into the crevice, and with a sudden pop, a chunk of of the rock came out in his hands.

Stiles looked at the chunk. It was actually a piece of ceramic – he could tell by the weight and texture – crafted to fit snugly into the hole in the rock. Further examination showed that the chunk was made to separate in two, and using the arrow again, he pried the two pieces apart. A ceramic disk about a half inch thick and slightly rough around the edge fell into his hand. On one side, it was a shiny surface showing a blue dragon curling in on itself in a spiral. It seemed to buzz slightly in his hand, but beyond that, Stiles got no other sensation from the object. If this was a powerful or magical object, Stiles had no way of knowing. 

Cora stood over his shoulder, silently watching. 

She suddenly jerked up straight, alert and listening. "I should have known. The Duke wouldn't have left this place unmonitored. Unwanted guests on the horizon." 

Stiles wasn't sure what to do. He put the ceramic disk in his pocket and put the two pieces that had held it back together and put the chunk back into the rock face. He looked at the space where the portal had been and looked to see where he needed to insert the dragon's eye, or dragon's eye ring he supposed, to open it again. There was no indication of a dragon in the surrounding rock, and Stiles wondered if he could do anything from this side of the portal. He held up his hand and looked at the red ring. The air before him began to waver. 

"Stop!" he heard Cora cry out as a hand grasped his shoulder. "We don't know if they even know about the portal yet. The less they know, the better. You just stay low and out of the way." 

Stiles let his hand down and the incipient portal vanished. He turned in time to see darkly-dressed figures coming up the hillside. Stiles remembered the arrowhead that had been embedded in Cora's arm and immediately moved to the other side of one of the boulders at the peak and lowered himself off the edge onto the debris strewn hillside. 

He peered over the edge, and he nearly tumbled back in surprise. Cora's face was now marked by a jutting jaw and snout and a mouth of snarlingly sharp teeth. Hair grew down the sides of her face, and her brows were heavy. Her eyes flashed gold in the light as she turned towards the figures. 

Instead of the ninja arrowhead things, the two figures let loose a volley of projectiles from what looked like crossbows, two of which Stiles heard thud soundly into flesh. Cora growled, and a second later, Stiles heard the projectiles clank to the rock. The figures drew nearer, firing more projectiles as they approached. Cora batted most of them away, and the few that stuck in her flesh were quickly removed. 

Stiles wondered where this attack would lead when he noticed Cora start to waver. He heard her moan something that sounded like "wolves pain," and then she was starting to teeter. 

There was a sudden shower of rock from Stiles’ left, and a streak of black shot forward and knocked one of the pursuers to the ground. There were cries and thumps against the ground and then a crunch. The second pursuer had turned from Cora, who had now fallen to her knees, only to be attacked face on by what Stiles could now see was a large black dog. No. Not dog. Wolf. The wolf closed his open jaws on the pursuer's face, and Stiles' last glimpse of the two of them was of the pursuer ineffectively batting against the animal that was ravaging his face. 

Stiles clambered back up. Cora was unconscious, and her face had regained her human aspect. Stiles needed to get her out of the open. He kneeled to try and lift her in his arms when he became aware of two naked human feet before him. 

Stiles looked up, and even though he was anticipating being attacked or worse, his traitorous brain still registered the incredibly well-muscled and very naked man not five feet away. How did a body like that even exist, thought Stiles, outside of Photoshop anyway and definitely never within Stiles' immediate sight? God-like pecs, a swirl of dark hair, thighs with cords of muscle and amazing calves. Stiles looked up to avoid checking out his crotch. Whoa. Seriously angry face. But amazing eyebrows and stubble that accentuated a chiseled jaw. Stiles assumed he had less than thirty seconds to live, but was somehow pleased at the thought of dying at the hands of an incredibly hot and naked man. He really had screwed up priorities. 

Instead of tearing his face off (Stiles assumed this was the wolf he had previously seen in action – this was a land of werewolves, after all), the man leaned over Cora's body and flared his nostrils. 

"It's just wolfsbane," he said, the tenor timber to his voice unexpected. "She's drugged but not hurt." 

Stiles was relieved, both by his reassurances as to Cora's state and by the fact that he was talking to him and not ripping off his face, and now that his panic was receding, his brain resumed normal function. "You must be Cora's brother - Derek? You must be a werewolf, too." 

His relief fled at the darkness that flashed across the man's face, but the darkness faded to return to more of just a scowl. "And who are you?" 

"Um. Stiles Stilinski. Your sister came through a portal, and I was just bringing her back." Stiles reached into his pocket. "And I think you two were looking for this." He held up the disk, and Derek took it gingerly. 

"What is it?" asked Stiles. 

Derek looked at Stiles. "I'm not completely sure, but I know the Duke will have more men here soon. We need to get off this mountain and somewhere safe." With that, Derek stood and turned away. "Follow me. I have to get my clothes." 

Stiles very agreeably followed Derek down the rocky peak and then along a trail. Derek was as good looking from the rear as he was from the front, and the view of the thighs and calves was even better. Stiles had no trouble appreciating the firm buttocks leading the way. Stiles also noticed the tattoo across Derek's shoulder blades, three spirals that joined in the middle forming a triangle. 

They reached a bush, and Derek pulled on black pants, a black wool sweater and a black leather jacket. He sat on the ground to lace up a pair of black boots. Stiles was a bit sorry to have such an amazing body covered up. 

"Here, let me take her," said Derek once dressed. Stiles handed Cora to her brother without complaint. Light as a feather she was not. "Down this way. I have horses in the city." 

Horses? Where were they? The wild west? Then Stiles remembered that there was no electricity here. Guess that ruled out cars and combustion engines. 

They made their way down a pretty faintly marked trail. At one point, Derek made them duck and stop. Stiles couldn't hear anything, but who knows what werewolf senses were like. 

They came off the mountain in a tangle of trees and brush. A few minutes later, they were at someone's fenced backyard. Derek leapt the fence with Cora in his arms. Stiles managed to climb over without injuring himself or tearing his clothes in embarrassing places. Derek motioned, and Stiles followed, and then they were on a leafy quiet street of single story clapboard homes. There were a few people about, but it was generally empty. No one seemed particularly bothered to see a man holding a young woman unconscious in his arms. 

Things looked pretty normal to Stiles save the absence of cars and trucks. People weren't dressed in gingham and bustles although he did note a few pairs of chaps. They cut down an alley behind some homes, and partway down was a stable with two horses. 

"We're heading back to Beacon Hills. It's the only safe place right now. Without pushing the horses, it should take about five hours." 

\- - - - - 

Two hours later, Stiles had stopped noticing the differences between this world and his own and was fully consumed by the pain in his thighs, side, ass, and body overall. 

As Derek had stated, they didn't push the horses. It felt to Stiles like a casual drive except without decent shocks. It was slow enough that he could take in all the other horses and oxen (oxen? In Richmond?), vehicles pulled by the same, the more generous cut of most clothes (skinny jeans did not exist here), and just the general busyness all around. There were no steel and glass buildings, and there were few buildings over four stories tall, but the buildings were familiar looking overall and would not be out of place in an older neighborhood in the Bay Area. 

Derek had hardly spoken since they mounted, which left Stiles with a lot of time to just look around. Until the twinges of pain began. The twinges spread and grew in intensity until all Stiles could think of was how to reposition his posterior to try to minimize his discomfort. 

Stiles was letting out the occasional moan, but Derek was not paying him the least attention. Cora was starting to stir. When Derek finally spoke, it was not a good thing. 

"Dammit. They've found us." 

Stiles figured it had to be the Duke's men, whoever this Duke was. The question was how many. When four riders pulled out from behind some trees, Stiles had his answer. 

Without almost any thought, the men were firing arrowheads at them. Derek leapt off his horse to avoid them, and Stiles ducked in undoubtedly an ungainly fashion before basically falling off his horse. When Stiles looked up, Derek was partly changed, not a full wolf (he was still clothed), but with the elongated snout, sharp teeth, and excessive facial hair. The family resemblance to Cora's earlier appearance was very apparent. He was also growling, a deep-chested sound that constrasted with his speaking voice. Derek leapt in the air and tackled one of the men off his horse. The other three tried to target him, but Derek was in constant motion. There were flashes and flying objects. 

"Give it up Hale," said a gruff voice. Stiles looked over his horse to see that one of the men had one of those arrowhead things pressed to Cora's temple. "I can send the point into your sister's brain before you even leave the ground." 

Derek growled but didn't move. 

"That's a good start Hale. Now, you have something the Duke wants. You hand it over and we’ll limit the deaths to yours. You don't, and the Hale lineage comes to a sad little end, and we still get what we want." 

Derek growled again, and his eyes flashed red. That was not a good sign thought Stiles. Everyone stood there somewhat awkwardly. 

"Not going as smoothly as I would like Hale," commented the man holding Cora hostage. "You have to a count of three before sister goes bye bye." 

Derek said nothing. Stiles couldn't believe he would let his sister die, so he must have a plan, but there really wasn't time, was there, and Stiles could do something about this right away. Scott would thank him later. 

"I have what you want," said Stiles, holding up the ceramic disk. The distraction was enough for Derek to take out the man nearest him with a swipe of his claws and for Cora to break the finger of the man poised to kill her. Derek was now after the third man, who was attempting to flee. 

"The medallion, if you please." Stiles turned slowly at the voice. The man who had been holding Cora hostage clearly still functioned just fine with a broken finger. He had corralled the still weak Cora and was ready to kill her with a knife already cutting into her neck. 

Stiles hesitated, and he watched in horror as the knife went deeper, blood flowing freely from the cut. He held out the medallion. 

The man lost no time and grabbed the medallion and fled. When Stiles looked to Cora, he found a knife buried in her neck. 

"Oh god," cried Stiles. There was so much blood. Cora's blood yet again. How could he staunch this? His hands were already red from just touching her neck. 

He felt Derek behind him. Derek leaned over and pulled the knife from Cora's neck. "It’s just a stab wound. He didn't cut off her head. It'll hurt like hell, but she'll recover." 

Stiles lost it. "How can you be so cavalier about being stabbed in the neck?" he screamed. "Do you both make it a habit to get wounded and bloody?" 

"Where's the object?" asked Derek. 

Stiles gaped. 

"You didn't hand it over, did you?" Derek asked, eyes narrowing. 

"He was going to kill your sister and then you. I was trying to prevent you both from dying." 

Derek glowered. "The object was more important than either of us. It's the key to destroying the Duke, and now you've handed it over to his man." Derek grabbed Stiles by the collar of his shirt and lifted him on to his toes. "You idiot," he seethed. "My family died trying to keep the Duke in check. Thank you for making their deaths meaningless." Derek snatched his hand away and let Stiles fall to the ground, wheezing. 

Stiles felt gingerly around his neck. Derek was a freaking maniac. A great body wasn't everything. 

"Stop with the worst possible outcome, Derek." It was Cora, sounding a bit worse for wear but definitely alive and with a functioning trachea. "Look at Stiles' finger." 

Stiles removed his blood covered right hand from his own neck and held it out. There was the dragon's eye, redder than usual. Stiles held up his other hand. Underneath the dried blood, it was clear he had acquired another ring. He sucked the finger into his mouth, ignoring the fact that this was Cora's blood. When he withdrew it, there was a blue dragon coiled around his pointing finger like a ring. 

\- - - - - 

It wasn't clear why the Duke's man had not simply turned around and come right back after them. If he had put the medallion (that seemed to be the official term now) in a pocket, perhaps he didn't notice when it returned to Stiles' possession. He'd probably get more than a broken finger from the Duke, Stiles surmised, but he couldn't muster much empathy. His ass was in too much pain. 

They arrived in the territory of the Hales, known as Beacon Hills. It was about fifty miles from Richmond, and based on the general geography, Stiles guessed they were somewhere north of Novato. Cora had revived, and she forced Stiles to touch her neck to show that she had healed. She also quietly thanked him. That was undoubtedly to make up for Derek's continued anger at Stiles in spite of the fact that they had not ended up losing the medallion after all. 

Beacon Hills looked like a prosperous town. There were numerous shops and stores, banks, a library, a theater (live performance, not movies of course), restaurants, churches, temples, and schools. And there were tons of horses and oxen and other animals hauling and pulling and being ridden. 

Cora had said that most people in this world had no magic and were not what you would call magical beings. Most people in this world weren't even that aware that magic existed. But in places like Beacon Hills, which had had a werewolf pack in residence since time immemorial, it was a general town secret that no one spoke about in order to avoid the curiosity of the wider world. 

When they rode into town, Derek and Cora had been greeted by numerous people, and within a block, the three of them had been joined by four others - a tall slender man with curly hair, a tall muscular black man, a slender Asian woman, and another woman with blond hair with red highlights and suspicion in her eyes. She reminded Stiles of Lydia. 

The three continued to ride, and the others ran, and after passing through a wood, they arrived at a sizable two-story wooden house with two peaks and a broad porch across the front. 

They dismounted, and the tall black man, Boyd if Stiles heard correctly, took the horses away. The door was opened by a smiling Asian man. 

"K'Aura! Welcome back. You look a bit bloody but well."

"Hey, D'Ani," Cora replied easily. "Things worked out in the end. By the way, this is Stiles." 

"What's a Stiles?" the suspicious woman asked. "And why do his clothes smell so strange?" 

"And who's all over you?" asked the Asian woman of Cora, pointing an accusing finger. 

Derek let out a growl and all chatter stopped. "Pack meeting in thirty minutes. Cora needs to wash up, and I need to show Stiles to a room." 

Stiles found himself being led along by Derek. "What the hell? I need to go back to my world." 

"In case you didn't notice, the Duke has men all over the place," said Derek through clenched teeth. "One of them even knows what you look like and the fact that you were able to magically steal back the medallion. I don't think it's a smart idea to try to head back to Calatu. Of course, I'm not sure 'smart' is a good word to describe you." 

"Low blow," argued Stiles. "I am totally smart. In this or any world." 

"You gave away the medallion."

"One. I was trying to save your lives. Two. I was trying to save your lives." 

"No one asked you to." They had arrived at Stiles' room, he supposed. Derek had banged the door open, so he thought it was a good guess. 

"Yeah. Keep on saying that. Until you can't. Because you're dead! Then you'll be crying, 'If only Stiles had saved our lives.'" 

Derek growled and shoved Stiles against the wall. "The medallion comes first. Got it?" 

If Stiles hadn't felt completely terrified that Derek might start flaying him alive, he would have thought it extremely hot to have mister body of the gods pinning him against a wall. As it was, however, all he squeaked was, "Got it." 

He was released and the glowering sourpuss left his room and the room seemed to brighten almost immediately. 

Cora walked by on the way to the shower presumably. She paused at Stiles' door. "Just so you know. Most of the people here are werewolves, so they heard every word that you and D'Eric exchanged. Just so you also know. D'Eric's not usually so nice to new people." 

"Just what I was afraid of," mumbled Stiles. Cora laughed from down the hall. 

\- - - - - 

Stiles washed his hands and face and that took less than five minutes. He had no idea where the "pack meeting" would take place, but he assumed it would not be in his room. He headed downstairs. 

Somehow, he wasn't surprised to be met by the two unfamiliar young women. 

"I'm E'Rica," said the suspicious one. 

"I'm K'Ira," said the Asian one. 

"I'm going to need to write all this down." Stiles pulled out a ballpoint pen from his pocket and clicked it open. "Do you have a sheet of paper?" Stiles asked. 

"What kind of pen is that?" asked Erica. 

"Um. It's a ballpoint. You don't have these in your world?" 

"I knew it!" screamed Erica in delight. "I knew he was from somewhere else. His clothes smell wrong." 

Kira handed him a sheet of paper. That looked the same. 

"Pack meeting stuff," said Stiles. "Okay. Names. You Kira." 

Kira watched as he wrote. "Not quite," she said. "People names all have an apostrophe." She wrote K'Ira. 

"Huh?" said Stiles. "So you are E'Rica?" Stiles asked. 

E'Rica smiled. "And D'Eric said you weren't smart." 

"Hey!" said Stiles, mildly insulted. "How do you spell Cora?" 

"K'Aura," answered K'Ira. 

"Didn't expect that," said Stiles. 

In short order he got the rest of the names. D'Eric (not Derek). Tall black guy was Boyd (no apostrophe because it wasn't his first name - he went by his last). Curly head guy was Y'Sac. Asian guy was D'Ani. 

"Why does K'Aura smell like some guy?" asked E'Rica. 

That didn't sound like a pack meeting thing to Stiles. "Um. She's seeing my best friend?" 

E'Rica hooted again. K'Ira flared her nostrils. "I can smell him on you, too." 

E'Rica and K'Ira both stopped their teasing. "We're being summoned," E'Rica said snarkily. They led the way onto a screened porch across the back of the house. Boyd and Y'Sac and K'Aura and D'Ani were already there. As soon as Stiles and the girls arrived, D'Eric appeared. 

"Sounds like you're all sorted with names," D'Eric began. 

Stiles nodded. "Spellings and everything." 

"So what's your real name?" asked E'Rica. "It can’t be Stiles." 

Stiles hesitated slightly, not totally insulted. "Ummm. It's Przejscie. It's Polish." 

"How do you spell it?" asked K'Ira. 

When Stiles was done, E'Rica snorted. "Leaves our names in the dust." 

"Stiles," D'Eric continued after a brief pause, "can open portals between worlds." 

There was some chatter at that, but D'Eric quickly clarified, "But he doesn't know how or why. It doesn't seem to work just anywhere. He's tried. So far, he's been able to open a portal on the Blessed Mountain. That's it." 

“Maybe it draws power from the dragon,” said K’Aura.

"Is Stiles what the message on the tiles was all about?" asked Y'Sac. 

"Maybe?" responded K'Aura. "In any case, he was the reason we found the medallion." 

Stiles held up his left hand. 

"That's a ring. Not a medallion." That was Boyd. He spoke very deliberately. 

"Well, it was a medallion until the Duke tried to steal it from him," said K'Aura. 

That gave Stiles a thought. He took the blue dragon ring off and lay it in his palm. There was a quiver in the air, and he and the others were now looking at a ceramic medallion glazed with a coiled blue dragon. 

"Okay. Medallion," said Boyd. 

"What is it??" asked Y'Sac. 

"That's what we need to find out," said D'Eric. "Now that we know we're looking at portals and medallions, we have something to search for. We'll have to look over the records in the house, the town hall, and the library archives." 

The group, excuse him, pack, continued to talk logistics for the search, but suddenly, Stiles felt an overwhelming lethargy come over him, and before long, he had fallen asleep in his chair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Przejscie' is Polish for 'gateway.'


	6. Getting to Know You

"So D'Ani is the only one in the pack who isn't a werewolf." Stiles and K'Aura were sitting on the front porch steps after dinner. The smell of food had revived him, and the food itself had been decidedly good.

"Not exactly," replied K'Aura. "D'Ani is the only human. But K'Ira is actually a kitsune - a werefox."

"Do werecats exist?"

K'Aura laughed. "I won't say they don't, but I've never encountered one."

"Would you chase one up a tree?"

"Werewolves, Stiles. Not weredogs."

Stiles shrugged. One never knew until it actually happened. "So why is D'Ani not a werewolf?"

"He declined the bite. Packs often have human members. Not everyone wants to be a werewolf."

Stiles mulled this over for a minute. "Were there humans in your pack before? I've picked up on the fact your pack used to he much bigger."

K'Aura fell silent and looked past Stiles' shoulder.

Stiles turned. It was D'Eric in the doorway.

"Shit," said Stiles. "Just tell me when I'm too nosey. I like to understand things, and I'll ask questions until you shut me up."

K'Aura got up.

"Hey!" Stiles cried out. "I'm really sorry. We can talk about something else."

"D'Eric is the Alpha. It's more his role to fill you in." K'Aura walked into the house, leaving the two of them alone.

It was awkward. D'Eric didn't come to sit beside Stiles, but Stiles knew he hadn't left. He just stood there behind him.

"As I said, I'm sorry. I didn't know about how important the medallion was." Stiles mumbled, "But I probably still would have done the same thing."

He heard a snort. Was that a good thing?

"Why don't you just take the medallion?" Stiles asked, pulling off the ring. "It’s probably safer with you." Stiles held out the medallion on his palm.

"It would probably go back to you. Look what happened before."

At least D'Eric was talking to him. "Right. I don't know why that happened."

There was another longish silence, but Stiles got the feeling he just needed to wait it out. He was right.

"My pack used to have fourteen members. There were my parents, my two sisters and me. There were my Uncle P'Eter and Aunt M'Lene and my cousins J'Ill and P'Aul. There was Aunt K'Lare and her partner, Aunt S'Al. There was Aunt B'Eth and Uncle D'Rew. And Aunt D'Aura.

"Most of us were born werewolves. P'Aul was born human, and he would have been offered the bite - to become a werewolf - at 13. Aunt S'Al took the bite when she and Aunt K'Lare became mates. Uncle D'Rew never took the bite. Aunt D'Aura wasn't a real aunt, but she was a part of the pack. She was human, too."

Through this recitation, D'Eric's voice was flat. Stiles swallowed and kept silent.

"I was seventeen, and my parents sent me and K'Aura away. I got sent to a university in New Amsterdam, that's a big city back east, and K'Aura was sent to a boarding school in Gabriel, down south from here. J'Ill and P'Aul were only seven and nine, and everyone felt better keeping them close. That was a mistake.

"My family was dealing with someone very powerful, and when they crossed him, he got back at them. It happened so suddenly. I was at university one day when I felt it - links to my pack being cut one after another. Most of them were killed in a house fire in this very spot. Aunt M'Lene and my cousins. Aunt S'Al, Aunt K'Lare, Aunt B'Eth. Uncle D'Rew. L’Aura. The irony was that my parents and Uncle P'Eter had left them all in the house because they thought it would be safer.

"My parents died next. I don't even know what they were doing, but their bodies were found on the Blessed Mountain. Witnesses said my sister had been with my uncle, but he had disappeared. So had Aunt D'Aura.

"The last thing my parents told me was to stay away and stay safe. And K’Aura and I did. For almost thirteen years."

D'Eric had stopped.

Stiles couldn't help it. "Was it the Duke? Why did he attack your family? What made you come back?"

"Maybe my parents knew something and were trying to stop it. The Duke, that's just a nickname - his real name is H'Lion - is now the most powerful individual in the area, and he seeks to become even more powerful. He was a power to be reckoned with sixteen years ago. He is even more powerful now."

"Titan of industry powerful or magic powerful?" Stiles asked.

"Both. His seat of power is the city of Oakston, across the bay from Hishman."

"Oakland," Stiles mumbled.

"He is an Alpha werewolf like me, but he's far stronger."

"Why?" asked Stiles. "Is his pack larger than yours?"

"No. He is stronger because he is an Alpha of Alphas. He only has four in his pack, but they are all Alphas."

"And what's an Alpha?" He had heard the term used repeatedly but still didn't grasp the concept.

"The Alpha is the leader of the pack. He is connected to all the pack members and thereby connects them all to each other, and that connection makes all of them stronger. They have a bond that allows them to sense the other members of the pack and locate them. An Alpha is the sum of the parts and without a pack is weak."

“How about all of those guys who attacked us?” asked Stiles. “Aren’t they part of his pack, too?”

D’Eric rolled his eyes. “Hardly. The best word for them would be minions. Hired hands.”

Stiles nodded in understanding. "So why did you and K'Aura come back?"

D'Eric sighed. "P'Eter. He was found alive. Badly scarred, like in a fire, and recovering in a nursing facility. He was found miles away from the house, so we don't know how he got burned. He needed me. When my mother died, L'Aura became the Alpha. She was ready for that responsibility. When she died, I became Alpha. The reason P'Eter had failed to heal was the absence of his Alpha. I had to come back."

Stiles nodded to himself. The pieces were making some sense. "So K'Aura came back, too, to strengthen the pack. And then you added more members - E'Rica and K'Ira and Y'Sac and D'Ani and Boyd."

"Yes."

"What's protecting you from the Duke now?"

"One - he had kind of forgotten about us. Two - we had witches strengthen the wards on our territory. He can't attack us surreptitiously again."

"I guess you're on his radar again," Stiles had to comment.

D'Eric's silence confirmed that it was true and that he didn't know why.

Stiles didn't speak for a while. He was thinking about being involved in all this and whether he wanted to be. How could he not be? He could open portals. He possessed the medallion - whatever it was for. He was a part of this.

He turned to share this thought with D'Eric, but when he looked behind him, he found he was alone on the porch.

\- - - - -

It was a bit odd to have oil lamps to carry around in the dark, and it took Stiles a while to fall asleep to the ticking of his bedside clock (which he found out needed to be wound every night!), but besides that, he was pretty comfortable. A good mattress was a good mattress, and there was running water and indoor plumbing (no hot shower though - he had to settle for a sponge bath when he got up).

D'Ani and Y'Sac made breakfast (lots of sausage - yay!), which included some excellent bread, and Stiles probably overdid it on the butter and preserves, but no one slapped his hand since they all ate like wolves (hah!) themselves.

They broke up into three teams. D'Ani, K'Aura, and Stiles would look through the records in the house. Boyd, K'Ira, and Y'Sac would cover the library. They would do the town hall if nothing else showed up.

"And what will you be doing, nephew?"

Stiles looked up from his last sausage to see a middle-aged man standing in the kitchen doorway. He had sharp blue eyes which were, for some reason, focused on Stiles. He had a lean face, definitely good looking (like which of the residents of this house weren't, really), and if the look he was giving Stiles didn't feel just a bit on the wrong side of pervy, it would have even been flattering.

"Supervising," said D'Eric with a slight growl. "What will you be doing? Lurking, as usual?"

"I have things to do." With that, P'Eter turned and left the room.

"Is he always so creepy?" Stiles couldn't help but ask just before eating that last sausage.

"He hasn't been quite the same since the fire and the other deaths," interjected K'Aura.

"He's a whack job most of the time," said E'Rica. K'Ira elbowed her. "Well, it's true," she insisted.

"He looks pretty okay to me," said Stiles. "D'Eric said he was badly scarred."

"Don't let the fact that he has no visible scars fool you," said D'Eric. "He has plenty still."

That more or less brought breakfast to a close. Stiles insisted on helping to wash up (it was a novelty to use hot water from the kettle) with D'Ani while K'Aura and D'Eric went to start pulling out their parents' papers. The others headed off to the town library.

"So how did you end up joining D'Eric's pack?" asked Stiles, drying a mug.

"I was on my own and working in town. I knew Y'Sac because I helped his dad occasionally. His dad was the gravedigger at the cemetery."

Stiles paused. "Seriously? Gravedigger?"

D'Ani shook his head. "I kid you not. His dad was a mean bastard, and I'm not sorry to say he ended up on the wrong side of dead after a bar fight. He used to beat Y'Sac something fierce. Anyway, D'Eric was looking for pack members, and Y'Sac decided to take the bite."

Stiles looked at D'Ani as he talked. He liked his gentle voice, which went well with the dark brown eyes and the full lips. Stiles shook his head. These people were too physically distracting. "So where do you come into this?"

D'Ani looked over and gave Stiles a small smile that made Stiles feel a bit warm inside. "When I saw Y'Sac after he had turned, he asked me if I wanted to join the pack as well. I was on my own, so I thought I would join them on a trial basis to see if it was something I really wanted. And here I am. Two years later."

"But you didn't take the bite," Stiles checked.

"No, I didn't. So I'm not exactly pack like the others. I can't sense where they are or know when they're in trouble, but I know D'Eric's howl, and I'm a part of them. It's belonging. And I'm good at fixing things like the water pump and repairing the house. I have a place to be."

Stiles nodded. That sounded good to him.

\- - - - -

They had started with family historical records. These had been stored in a secure room in D'Eric's father's office downtown but since moved to the rebuilt house. There were numerous volumes, and while interesting, there was no mention of medallions or portals. By the time they were through with them, it was midday.

While Stiles, D'Ani, and K'Aura had been actively going through the volumes, D'Eric had gone back and forth between the groups and in and out. He was currently hovering.

"How's the supervising going?" Stiles asked. He couldn't help teasing the guy. He probably had no idea how that semi-permanent scowl did nothing for his face. Which was still amazingly attractive in its broodiness. "A good supervisor knows when it's time for a lunch break."

"I'll get the others," D'Eric grunted and left.

"I'm guessing that means we are the lunch crew," said Stiles to D'Eric's retreating back.

"You are," D'Eric called out before closing the front door.

Stiles grumbled, "You weren't supposed to hear that."

"He probably heard that, too," laughed K'Aura. "Don't forget we have pretty good hearing."

Stiles groaned. "Just show me what to do for lunch."

"I can tell he's warming to you," said K'Aura, getting up.

"How?" sighed Stiles.

"He was actually listening to you!"

D'Ani and K'Aura both laughed at that as they went down to the kitchen.

\- - - - -

The other group had a lead on documents related to portals, so they eagerly returned to the library after a relatively quick lunch of sandwiches. Notably, there was no mustard.

D'Eric had gone back with them to the library, so it was the three of them cleaning up.

"So who do you want to have sex with first, Stiles?" asked K'Aura innocently.

"I...," began Stiles automatically before he fully processed K'Aura's question. "What...no one!" stammered Stiles, nearly dropping a plate.

K'Aura gave him a piercing look. "I saw you checking out E'Rica's boobs and Boyd's muscles. Don't lie."

"Not to mention K'Ira's dimples," added D'Ani with mischief.

"Um," said Stiles. "It's just general appreciation for a house full of incredibly attractive people."

"Thank you," smiled D'Ani rather smugly.

"Appreciation, my foot. That's not what it smells like," teased K'Aura.

"What do you mean?" asked Stiles, puzzled and a bit apprehensive.

K'Aura leaned towards him and flared her nostrils. "Werewolves can smell arousal."

"Oh god!" cried Stiles, holding the plate between him and K'Aura's nosey nose. "Oh god."

"Nonstop since you got here," smirked K'Aura.

Stiles just wanted to huddle in a corner.

K'Aura laughed and D'Ani just smiled indulgently.

"I'm going to douse myself in Axe and make your olfactory senses overload," Stiles grumped.

"What's Axe?" asked D'Ani.

"A potent men's cologne. Once smelled, you'll never be able to smell anything again."

"I'm sure D'Ani wouldn't mind smelling your Axe," K'Aura leered. D'Ani just blushed charmingly. Stiles gaped.

"Save the blushing for later guys," K'Aura laughed. "We have more records to look through."

\- - - - -

After lunch, the three of them went through files. The ones in the house had been lost in the fire, but there were older files that had been stored along with the historical records.

"It can't be that easy," said K'Aura holding her place in the file box with a finger.

"What?" asked Stiles, looking up from his own box.

K'Aura pulled out a folder and held it up. "Medallions."

"No way," exclaimed Stiles. "What’s in the folder?"

Stiles and D'Ani watched as K'Aura skimmed the file. It was obvious that there was something there to judge by her intense expression.

"This is definitely something," K'Aura said.

"Well, give us a summary," urged Stiles, resisting the impulse to grab the file. D'Ani nodded.

"The notes are about thirty years old, but they mention three medallions. And it explains why there's a dragon on the one we have."

"Yes? Don't keep us in suspense." Stiles was vibrating in his seat.

"According to this, the medallions were made by the three dragons. You know, the ones under the mountains."

Stiles nodded. He remembered their talk about dragons, but he hadn't really thought they were real. Powerful. Magical. It all fit.

"Calatu, Hishman, and Macon," said D'Ani.

"Are they all cities?" asked Stiles.

"That's who the cities are named after," agreed D'Ani. "Anything else?"

"It’s a bit vague about how it works, but when the three medallions are brought together, a person will have access to a portal of unlimited power. A portal. Maybe that's why the medallion won't leave you, Stiles."

Stiles nodded. "So I have two questions. First, why are we even looking for the medallions? Wouldn't it be better to just leave them alone? Second, does it say where the others are? Not that I actually think it’s a good idea to look for them."

"Why not?" asked K'Aura. "If we find them, we can use them to defeat the Duke."

"Um," hesitated Stiles. "His men caught us once before. What's to stop them from catching us again? And what if we have all three medallions? Couldn't he use them himself? That's always what happens in books. Good intentions. Terrible consequences."

"Stiles makes a very good point," agreed D'Ani. "We could be doing the Duke's work for him."

"I think we need those medallions. And we have Stiles. The medallions like him." K'Aura paused. "Anyway, it’s really up to D'Eric to decide. And speak of the devil."

Sure enough, D'Eric was in the doorway. "We have more information about portals, and it sounds like you have information about the medallions. The others will be back soon."

Stiles felt a tap on his shoulder. It was D'Ani. "Want to help me make some coffee?"

Stiles could feel his face heat just from looking at D'Ani's small smile. "Sure."

As they left the room, D'Eric was scowling as always and K'Aura was flaring her nostrils in an obvious way. Stiles felt a bit embarrassed, but at least K'Aura was looking at D'Eric and not at him and D'Ani.

\- - - - -

It felt a bit like what he imagined filled the pages of a romance novel - lots of small smiles, laughing along with the other person, a brushing of fingers as they were setting out snacks to go with the coffee.

Stiles was a bit stunned that someone as ridiculously good looking as D'Ani was even remotely interested in Stiles. But it sure seemed that way to him, and if this was the case, Stiles could work with that.

When they brought stuff out to the back porch, everyone, including P'Eter, was there. Where had he been all day? K'Aura was elbowing D'Eric, and D'Eric definitely sent a stink eye his way. What had he done?

Stiles didn't dwell on that much since shortly after he sat down there was a very solid and warm presence lightly pressed into his right side. Stiles just hoped he wouldn't swoon and faint into D'Ani's arms.

D'Eric spoke. "There are three medallions, and if brought together, they sound powerful enough to stop the Duke. There are also three portals. The three portals are found on the Blessed Mountain, the Sacred Mountain, and the Golden Mountain.

"It sounds like the three portals are connected to the three dragons slumbering beneath the mountains."

"And the three dragons created the three medallions," Stiles realized.

D'Eric was looking at him with obvious annoyance. Clearly the Alpha didn't like being interrupted.

"Sorry," sighed Stiles. "I forget this is not a participatory democracy."

D'Eric glared, but Stiles could hear some chuckling. Undoubtedly K'Aura.

"Since the first medallion was found near the portal on the Blessed Mountain, the second might be found near the Sacred Mountain. I think that's where we look next."

"Very good, nephew. I do believe you are on the right track."

D'Eric gave P'Eter a long look. "What do you know, P'Eter?"

P'Eter shrugged. "I don't remember anything, but I feel this is right. Is that good enough?"

"It'll have to be," said D'Eric. "We don't want to alert the Duke, so it should just be me, Stiles, and E'Rica. We'll leave tomorrow."

"Wait a minute," said K'Aura. I should be going. I've already been through a portal."

D'Eric glowered at her. "You know why you can't go. If something happens to me, you need to lead the pack."

"Still unfair," sulked K'Aura.

"Wait a sec," said Stiles.

"More contributions from the peanut gallery?" smirked D'Eric.

"Also unfair," complained Stiles although he was finding D'Eric's grumpiness less and less off-putting and more amusing as time went on. "I need to get back to my world to at least let people know where I am. And like, it's Christmas!? Do you celebrate Christmas here?"

"We do," said D'Eric. "But this is more important."

Stiles shook his head. "Sorry, but no. My dad is alone in my world, and he is expecting to see his only son for the days leading up to Christmas. This stuff all sounds dangerous to me, and if there's a chance I'm not going to see my dad again soon, I'm seeing him now. Also, my best friend Scott is probably freaking out wondering what happened to me."

Suddenly all eyes turned to K'Aura. Serious blush.

D'Eric was the only one still looking at Stiles.

"So here's what I propose, and I'm thinking you don't have much choice because I'm the one who can open portals and the medallion likes me, so if you want to go ahead without me, good luck with that, but I'm going home until the 27th." Stiles realized no one was looking at K'Aura now. All eyes were on him.

D'Eric looked decidedly unhappy, but he nodded. "The Duke is probably on high alert anyway. This lull will keep him guessing. I'll take Stiles to Calatu in the morning." With that, D'Eric left the room.

\- - - - -

The rest of the day was spent making sure there wasn't anything else in the files (there wasn't).

K'Ira, E'Rica, and Boyd made dinner, which was a fairly subdued affair. Stiles caught D'Eric glaring in his direction a few times, but Stiles ignored him and chatted with D'Ani next to him.

"I'm going to write Scott a note," said K'Aura as dinner was ending. "I'll give it to you before you leave."

Stiles nodded. Y'Sac, E'Rica, K'Ira, and Boyd left together, and P'Eter had disappeared at some point.

"Well," said D'Ani with a slight hesitation. "It sounds like I won't get to see you for a while."

"Uh, yeah," was all Stiles could muster.

"I've been wanting to do this all day," D'Ani whispered. Stiles nearly fell backwards when D'Ani leaned towards him, but Stiles quickly got with the program.

D'Ani's lips were full and soft and more fantastic than Stiles had imagined them to feel. D'Ani cupped a hand around the back of Stiles neck and held him in place as D'Ani kissed him, an endless kiss of moist pressure, the light brush of tongue, the exhale of warm breath across his cheek.

When the kiss stopped, Stiles blinked a few times to bring the world back into focus. "Wow."

"You're pretty 'wow' yourself," chuckled D'Ani in response.

They got up from the table. D'Ani held his hands. "Have a happy Christmas. See you when you come back."

"Yeah," breathed Stiles. "Same to you."


	7. Home for the Holidays

That was a great kiss, but why hadn't D'Ani wanted to take things further? Was Stiles a slut for thinking that way? They had only known each other for little more than a day. Shouldn't Stiles appreciate the fact that D'Ani respected him enough to move slowly? What was he? A blushing virgin? 

It would have been less pathetic if Stiles hadn't been thinking in such circles all night long. He had to stop. He really was ridiculous. 

D'Ani had given him another thoroughly toe curling kiss in his room this morning, and this time Stiles had been pressed up against what was a pretty amazing body. Firm in all the right places. Why was he interested in Stiles? Gah. Stop. Stop. Stop. 

Now they were getting ready to head out. He looked for K'Aura since she still hadn't given him the letter for Scott. D'Eric looked slightly more scowly than usual. When K'Aura came down the stairs in traveling clothes and a back pack, he kind of guessed why. 

"There is no reason I shouldn't go with Stiles," she said, pre-empting any objection D'Eric was about to make. "You'll still be here, and it would be a definite advantage for at least one of us to know Stiles' world better." 

D'Eric just fumed for a bit before barking out, "Fine." 

"Say hello to Scott for us," simpered E'Rica. The others laughed at that. K'Aura ignored them. 

D'Ani gave him a small smile and a wave, and then they were off. 

Stiles wouldn't say that his ass had already toughened up, but he did find the going less arduous this time. At first, D'Eric rode behind them, and K'Aura talked with Stiles about what they were seeing. She excused herself after half an hour and dropped back to have a conversation with D'Eric. Stiles didn't hear any words, but he couldn't miss K'Aura's laugh and mocking tone with her older brother. In spite of being the Alpha, D'Eric seemed to be the regular target of pointed comments. 

D'Eric moved up to join him, and K'Aura took the rear. For a while, they didn't say anything; but, to be honest, Stiles was getting used to this from D'Eric. He would speak when he was ready and didn't need to fill silences with mindless chatter. Unlike Stiles. Who was trying to follow D'Eric's lead and allow for silences. D'Eric was a puzzle. He came off as gruff and scowly, but Stiles got the sense he wasn't like that at all. Some of his glances at the other man seemed to confirm that. D'Eric looked a bit lost, maybe even insecure. It softened his features, and Stiles couldn't help but look at him. 

Actually, D'Ani was better looking than D'Eric in Stiles' estimation. Undoubtedly, it was because D'Ani's handsome face was usually graced with a smile. But D'Eric was far from being a troll, and in these quiet moments, Stiles wondered what D'Eric looked like when he smiled. 

Stiles was getting better with silence, but he still had a ways to go to catch up with D'Eric. 

"So," Stiles began, "I was wondering, why did Boyd and E'Rica and K'ira join your pack. D'Ani told me about Y'Sac's reasons when he told me about himself, but I was curious about the others." He hastened to add, "If I'm not being too nosey." 

D'Eric snorted, and Stiles was learning that this was a good thing. 

They rode on a bit further before D'Eric spoke. "Boyd's dad raised him on his own. His dad worked hard every day of his life, but there was never enough. Not enough to eat or wear. And definitely not enough respect. Boyd was such a quiet kid that people thought he was stupid. Boyd's dad got sick. There was medical insurance, but not the best kind. Who knows if it made the difference. In any case, when he died, Boyd decided he would do what he could to never be in his dad's situation. Working three menial jobs and getting no respect. Having no life." 

Stiles nodded. "So he took the offer to join your pack. Has it worked for him?" 

D'Eric took a moment before responding. "The bite and being in a pack don't fix everything. Boyd still carries who he was and who his father was with him. But he has the pack, and he has Y'Sac and E'Rica, and he's a werewolf now. So things are better." 

"Boyd and E'Rica and Y'Sac. You mean like romantically?" 

"Sort of, but not. It's more a physical bond on top of being in the pack together. Not really like boyfriends and girlfriend, but they are particularly close within the pack." 

"Oh. So not like a sexual thing." 

D'Eric looked at Stiles as if he were a bit thick. "Sexual, yes. I told you it was physical. They share a room in the house." 

Stiles schooled his face so that he wouldn't look surprised. He hated feeling surprised and so unsophisticated. So werewolves bonded in groups. Who knew? He forced himself not to think of the three of them having sex together. Naked. He was undoubtedly failing, and D'Eric could surely smell his lascivious thoughts. 

"E'Rica?" Stiles asked, trying to distract both of them. 

"Epilepsy," D'Eric replied simply and revealing nothing about whether he was picking up anything from Stiles or not. 

"So becoming a werewolf cured all that?" 

"She dealt with it her whole life. Felt limited and humiliated by how helpless it made her feel. You can see how she holds herself now." 

"A bit of overcompensation, I would say, but yeah." Stiles wondered if he would want the bite if he had a crippling physical ailment. 

D'Eric was nodding, and Stiles took that as another plus. That left only one pack member. 

D'Eric began without prompting, "K'ira is not a werewolf. She's actually a kitsune, a fox spirit. But she doesn't change form. When she manifested as a kitsune, she didn't know what to do or where to go. Boyd's the one who reached out to her. She's only been with the pack less than a year." 

"How about the others?" 

"Boyd and Y'Sac and E'Rica have been with me the longest, about three years. D'Ani joined about two years ago." 

D'Eric appeared to be done talking for awhile, and they rode the next few miles in silence. It was nice, riding next to D'Eric. Not as nice as it would be riding next to D'Ani, but still nice. Maybe nicer. Shit. He was really a horrible person. 

"So tell me about your family," said D'Eric. 

Stiles smiled. "Well there's my dad, who is a sheriff in the city of Santa Rosa. It's not far from where Beacon Hills would be located in our world. I grew up there and didn't leave until I went to university and then went to work. Scott grew up there, too. Our university was in Davis, not far from your Macon. Now I live and work in San Francisco, which is your Hishman. Scott and I share a place, but he works in Oakland. Your Oakston." 

"Duke H'Lion's territory," D'Eric confirmed. "So every place here has a corresponding place in your world?" 

Stiles shrugged. "I'm not totally sure of that, but there are definitely parallels and connections." 

D'Eric hesitated. "And your mother?" 

"My mom died fifteen years ago. She had cancer. It like came out of nowhere and within less than a year, she was gone. It was awful. I took it really badly, and I know my dad's life was hell for a long time." 

"What did she do?" asked D'Eric. 

Stiles smiled. "She was a librarian and an artist. She painted and did clay sculpture, mobiles, handmade books." 

When Stiles looked over, D'Eric had a small smile. He knew D'Eric had to be in his thirties, but the smile made him look like a little boy. 

"Hey," he said softly. 

D'Eric looked up, almost shyly. "I feel the same way. My mom was great, too." 

\- - - - - 

They stopped for a break in a place called Porter (what was this in his world - Stiles couldn't recall) before crossing over the river and the short stretch to Calatu. It was late morning, and D'Eric calculated they would get to the peak before one. 

Both D'Eric and K'Aura were on alert, but nothing threatened. They dropped off the horses at the same stable Stiles remembered from before, and soon they had cleared the little patch of wood and were making their way up the hillside. 

Since their talk before crossing the bridge, conversation with D'Eric seemed more stilted instead of easier. Stiles couldn't do much about that, especially now that he was going home. 

They reached the peak, and the view of the bay and beyond stretched out in the clear winter air. D'Eric and K'Aura exchanged a hug, and then it was final words before Stiles waved his ring. 

"Merry Christmas, D'Eric," Stiles said a bit haltingly. "I'll bring you back something cool." 

D'Eric looked surprised for a second, but then schooled his face back to its normal seriousness - well, maybe not quite as hard as before. "Happy Yule to you, too, Stiles. Travel safe." 

Stiles was a little disappointed no hug was forthcoming, but really, what could he expect? 

He raised his hand and focused on the red ring, and the portal shimmered into being. They both turned to wave to D'Eric, and Stiles couldn't help but think how alone he looked, and he kind of ached for him. They turned away and walked through. 

\- - - - - 

Clearly their previous trips through the portal had just been serendipitously unremarked. This time, in spite of checking to see how busy it was, they managed to startle a woman enough to make her scream and drop her shopping bags. K'Aura apologized and helped her pick things up. While the woman was distracted, Stiles quickly removed the stone from the dragon’s eye socket and dropped it into his pocket.

They got on BART, and Stiles found that his cell phone remained non-functioning, undoubtedly in need of recharging. K'Aura had lost any shyness, such as it was, and was now all questions, asking about the magnetic strip on the BART ticket, the flashing destination signs, the difference between cell phones and tablets and laptops, and the plugs people stuck in their ears trailing lengths of string. 

Since Stiles couldn't call, he decided they would just show up at Scott's work. He was sure to be worried, and Stiles suspected he would be happy to see K'Aura again, sooner than expected. 

When they appeared at the vet clinic, Scott calmly told the receptionist that he was taking a ten-minute break, led them to the same back room, and let loose once the door was shut. 

"Where the hell have you been, Stiles?" Scott hissed. "I was worried sick! And what was I supposed to do? Tell the police that my best friend had disappeared through a hole in the universe? And what was I going to tell your dad? Thank god he didn't call while you were missing. I told my mom to say hello to him for you just to throw him off the scent." 

Scott tended to ramble when he was worked up, so Stiles did what he usually did and wrapped him in a hug. There had been a short time when the hugs were super awkward when they were no longer lovers and working back to being best friends, but that had been resolved a while ago. 

Scott hugged him back. "God. I was soooo worried." Scott started wheezing a bit, a vestige of his childhood asthma, but soon he was breathing normally again. 

"Didn't you trust me to protect him? I am a werewolf, after all." 

Scott looked up from Stiles' shoulder, and Stiles could feel Scott's face heat. 

"Hey Cora," said Scott. "I'm not ignoring you. Just needed a moment." 

K'Aura nodded, and soon Scott let Stiles go and went to hug K'Aura. A hug that included a few kisses. Stiles looked at medical supplies. 

"So what are you doing here?" Scott asked. "I didn't think I'd see you until after Christmas." 

"We have a lot to fill you in on, Scottie, but K'Aura is here to learn more about this world and, coincidentally, our Christmas customs." 

"So you're staying for Christmas?" asked Scott a bit breathlessly. Stiles did not laugh at how eager he looked. 

"If you'll have me," K'Aura said demurely. 

Scott started. "Oh my god. Where is she going to sleep? I mean, I know where I would like her to sleep, but mom's never met her before, and..." 

At that, Stiles had to laugh. "I'll clear it with my dad, and she can stay in the guest room. I'll tell him K'Aura is from out of town and had nowhere to go for the holidays. He loves strays, just like he loves you. And he'll figure out you and K'Aura are interested in each other in no time." 

"You say her name funny," said Scott, scrunching his forehead. 

"I do not. I say it correctly. I'll also have to teach you to spell it," added Stiles, "but maybe for now, we can just use Cora. It'll be easier for the parents. Does that work for you?" Stiles directed the last question to K'Aura. 

"It's like playing spy," she answered. "No problem." 

"Well, Scottie, we're heading home. See you there?" 

Scott looked sulky. "So unfair. You'll both be doing stuff without me while I have to work." 

K'Aura stroked a hand down Scott's cheek. "But we'll be doing stuff tonight, and Stiles will be alone staring at the ceiling." 

Scott beamed. "Cool." 

"Low blow," was Stiles response. 

Scott and K'Aura kissed again before they left the room. They all made the usual finger waves at the door to the clinic, and then they returned to the BART station. 

"You know, you should probably buy some clothes so you can mix them in with what you brought. Your stuff isn't really unusual, but too much of it together kind of calls attention to it." Stiles was assessing K'Aura's outfit and thinking H&M. 

"Maybe you can help me pick out something Scott will like to see me in," K'Aura added. "After all, you know what he likes." 

Stiles blushed but grabbed K'Aura's wrist and pulled her to the station stairs. K'Aura laughed. 

\- - - - - 

They had a good time at H&M, and K'Aura was pretty game to try on anything. She picked out a slinky sparkly dress for Christmas Day even though Stiles thought it was more appropriate for New Year's Eve. Regardless, Scott would indeed be eager to unwap that package. She was particularly enamored of camisoles with a bit of spandax, and she asked to buy several in different colors for K'ira and E'Rica. 

Which got Stiles to pondering what to get not only D'Ani for Christmas but each pack member, too. It couldn't be electronic, but he still wanted it to be something not found in the other world. He was standing at the register waiting to pay when the display of greeting cards gave him an idea. 

Stiles walked K'Aura through San Francisco Center, and the things she was most impressed by were the Christmas lights and the circular escalator. 

They stopped at the supermarket on the way home, and they ended up getting back just a few minutes before Scott. 

"Serious damage!" Scott exclaimed upon seeing the bags from H&M. 

"Maybe I'll model them for you after dinner," teased K'Aura. Scott gulped and shut up. Stiles chuckled and went to make dinner. 

It was so obvious the two could barely keep their hands off each other that Stiles waved them off when they offered to do the clean up. "You'll make it up to me," called Stiles as they ran from the room. 

After he cleaned up, he sat at his laptop. Thank the heavens for Amazon Prime and free two-day shipping. He typed in his search terms and was delighted by what came up. He was evaluating the results when he came to a sobering realization. He was shopping for D'Eric and not D'Ani. D'Ani who had made his toes curl just that morning with that farewell kiss. Yet his first thought was for D'Eric. Was D'Eric even interested in him? Should it even matter? D'Ani clearly was, and Stiles still couldn't believe it. So why did he feel so weird about it. 

Alright. He would fix that. He would look for a gift for D'Ani first. It was only right. 

\- - - - - 

An hour later, his shopping for the pack done, Stiles lay back on his bed feeling a sense of accomplishment. 

He gave a passing thought to K'Aura and Scott down the hall before thinking about the memory of D'Ani's lips and the body that had been pressed to his. Stiles' hand began to trail down his body towards his hardening cock. He imagined what D'Ani's body undoubtedly looked like divested of his clothing. Hard pecs and nipples that responded under Stiles' attention. Stiles gripped his erection through his jeans and moaned. He fantasized kneeling before him and taking the hard cock into his mouth. He imagined satisfied moans escaping from his partner. He looked up to witness the pleasure on his partner's face, but it wasn't D'Ani looking down at him with desire. Instead, it was D'Eric's face, looking shy and a bit afraid. 

Stiles stopped his hand. He couldn't shake the image of D'Eric, looking tentative, afraid yet hopeful. Hopeful about Stiles? 

Stiles lay there, desire suddenly thwarted. God he was an awful person. 

\- - - - - 

Stiles checked in with work and was not surprised to not be able to reach anyone. He figured he was fine with taking another personal day, and the next week was all vacation. Scott had one more day, but they were leaving the following day, Saturday, for Santa Rosa. 

Stiles took K'Aura to the Exploratorium to show her more about how electricity worked. The hands-on science museum delighted K'Aura. She couldn't stop marveling at how static electricity made her hair stand up. She was incredulous that they could generate enough electricity with potatoes to dimly light a lightbulb. Surely they could at least try to replicate this experiment at home in her world, and Stiles bought her a kit to take back.They agreed that D'Ani would be fascinated, and Stiles was quietly pleased at how appropriate his gift for D'Ani was. 

Stiles walked her through Chinatown, and he told her how the Chinese for San Francisco translated as 'Old Gold Mountain.' As they walked around, they also looked for what might be a portal, but nothing stuck out so they left it. 

Interestingly, Stiles now noted, the medallion had not changed from its form as a ring when they passed through the portal even though the dragon's eye had resumed its stone form and its place in Stiles' pocket. 

They returned home to make dinner, tidy up the apartment for their upcoming absence, and get a head start on packing. 

Scott cheered when he arrived home, delighted at the prospect of a week off and a week with family and K'Aura. He hugged and kissed K'Aura and then went in the kitchen where Stiles was stirring spaghetti sauce. He wrapped his arms around his best friend and nuzzled the back of Stiles' neck. K'Aura watched amused. 

"Are you sure you two aren't part wolf?" K'Aura asked. "Werewolves nuzzle all the time, but I don't see most humans do that, not even married couples." 

"Stiles and I have a long history of being twisted around each other," Scott laughed. "I know my mom used to think we were like puppies. There are a few pictures of us asleep and tangled together." 

"I'd love to see that," smiled K'Aura. 

"Far be it for me to deny my fair lady anything," Scott proclaimed as he sketched K'Aura a bow. "I will get the evidence now." 

"I'm sure you two were adorable as kids," said K'Aura, ruffling Stiles' hair. 

"We're still adorable," insisted Stiles giving the sauce another stir before lowering the heat to a simmer. 

"Here we go," enthused Scott, returning with a photo album in his hands, a page marked by his finger. He put the album on the kitchen table opened to his desired location. "There we are," he said proudly. 

Stiles looked at the familiar picture. He and Scott were six and conked out after a day at the beach. They were wrapped in each other's arms, foreheads pressed together and legs entangled. They were also liberally dusted with sand. 

"Who's that?" asked K'Aura, snapping Stiles out of his thoughts.

Before Stiles could track where K'Aura was pointing, Scott answered, "That's Stiles' mom." 

"Your mother?" asked K'Aura, looking at Stiles. "What was her name?" 

"Dora Stilinski," replied Stiles. "Her maiden name was Portman. What's wrong? You have this look on your face." 

Scott was looking concerned, too. 

"Can you show me some more pictures of her? I want to be sure," K'Aura said hesitatingly. 

Scott flipped pages and pointed to various pictures of Stiles' mom. Stiles just watched K'Aura's face. 

"Stiles," she finally said, looking up at him. "I don't understand, but your mom was my Aunt D'Aura. She was in our pack. L'Aura and I are both named after her." 

"Are you sure?" Stiles asked, but he knew she was. 

"That's definitely her. I grew up with her, and I know those expressions, and that's how she always smiled." 

"So was she from your world?" Stiles asked. 

"I don't know," said K'Aura softly. "But if she was your mom in this world, and she was my aunt in my world, it meant she was able to travel between our worlds." 

"Just like you do, Stiles," added Scott. 

Stiles had a hard time taking it all in, but as his fingers wrapped around in the stone in his pocket, he realized it could very well be true. 

\- - - - - 

Packing and dinner were interspersed with shared recollections of Stiles' mother, Aunt D'Aura. How she sat with them and told them fantastic tales, which they now realized were partly informed by her knowledge of the other world. How she did projects with them, making clay animals, which they would then glaze and fire. Designs she would paint on t-shirts of stars and flying beasts - perhaps dragons. 

There were differences, too. Stiles and Scott remembered the many hours they spent in the library with her after school when she was working. K'Aura remembered pack outings with the wolves running madly and tumbling the human members in games of tag. 

It was only after a while that Stiles was able to remember his mother going away. He didn't even remember what for, but he did remember days spent with just his dad - fishing, working in the yard, going to a ball game, and one memorable afternoon hanging around at the Sheriff's Station, where he had eaten so many donuts that he had vomited all over his dad's desk. 

K'Aura always knew that Aunt D'Aura had a family, and she had been curious because they weren't pack, which was very strange to her. She knew they lived very far away, and Aunt D'Aura's widely-spaced visits seemed to support that. She tried to see if she remembered smelling Scott and Stiles on her, but her olfactory memories were not that good. 

On the drive up to Santa Rosa, they decided how to introduce her to Stiles' dad and Scott's mom. 

"Dad!" Stiles hugged his father fiercely at the front door. His dad felt solid and healthy, something Stiles couldn't avoid thinking about after his mom's death. His dad was in his mid-fifties and a not-bad looking guy if Stiles had to give an opinion. He had not remarried after his mom's death, but he and Scott's mom, Melissa, had established a now long-term relationship that defied a label but seemed good for them both. Scott's dad had been abusive of both Scott and his mom, and his departure had brought relief. 

"What the hell is going on with all these packages from Amazon?" his dad asked. "It’s like a loading dock in your room." 

"Stuff for friends I'll be seeing after Christmas, and I wasn't sure when they would start arriving and I was going to be here and not at home." 

Stiles' dad ruffled his hair and then pulled Scott into a hug of his own. "Hey Scottie. Your mom can't wait to see you. And don't worry, we're having dinner at your place tonight." 

"Cool," replied Scott simply. "Missed you both." 

"Well, San Francisco isn't on another planet. You two could come home a bit more often," his father teased. 

"And I have a surprise," said Stiles. 

His dad looked over and saw the young woman standing on the front steps. Stiles couldn't miss the way his dad assessed her and what this introduction meant. His dad had been very much aware of Stiles' failed relationship with Lydia and the undiscussed period of his relationship with Scott. 

Stiles continued. "Dad, this is Cora Hale. She's the daughter of an old friend of mom's, Talia Hale." 

Stiles could see his dad was stunned. He was silent for a good while, and again Stiles could sense the interplay of his dad's thoughts, how this girl brought back to him his much-missed wife. 

He shook his head and then walked to Cora with hands outstretched. He took her hands into his. "How wonderful to meet you. I've met your parents, and I've seen pictures of you and your siblings. How is everyone?" 

At that, Cora's eyes grew moist, and she wrapped her arms around Stiles' dad. His dad looked at Stiles in bewilderment. 

"Life has been hard on all our families," Stiles said solemnly. "Let's get settled a bit and then talk." 

Cora was hastily wiping her eyes and apologizing, and Stiles' dad was patting her on the back and telling her she should call him John. 

"I think the girlfriend thing can wait, don't you?" Stiles asked. Scott nodded. "Here. Take yourself home. We have dad's car if I need one." 

Scott took Stiles' keys and gave him a parting hug. Stiles stretched his shoulders, still a bit tight from the drive. Then he picked up his bags and went in the house. 

\- - - - - 

"It's the truth," said Stiles. They were all seated around the McCall's dining table enjoying pork chops, green beans, and scalloped potatoes. "We just happened to sit next to each other on BART, and she noticed my name badge, and asked me if I lived in Santa Rosa." 

"I was probably on the train from Sacramento with Stiles and didn't even know it," added Cora. 

"She was checking out UC Davis for grad school," added Scott. 

Cora nodded. "I'm hoping to study endangered species like wolves and bears." 

The fake biography seemed to flow even more naturally the second time, and Stiles was relieved. 

"And you're Talia's daughter," smiled Scott's mom. This was quickly changed to a look of sympathy. "John told me about what happened to your family. I'm so sorry." 

"And I'm so sorry about Aunt Dora. I never knew," responded Cora. 

Over coffee and some of Mrs. McCall's peanut butter cookies earlier, Cora had shared with Stiles' dad (already Uncle John) about the house fire and the hiking accident that had killed her parents. It sounded a bit thick, but the fact was they had all died. 

Stiles' dad remembered his wife's regular trips to visit Talia Hale and her family in Richmond. Talia and Michael Hale had been at their small wedding at City Hall, and Talia had come up to visit Dora several times. John had been a very busy deputy in the department at the time, and his time with Talia had always been very brief. 

"I think I remember meeting your mother once at the library," said Melissa. 

"I don't remember her at all," confessed Stiles, even though they had established that Talia had visited when he was definitely old enough to remember. 

"All friends of their parents look alike to kids," joked Melissa. 

"So, anyway," said Stiles, "I found out she was just hanging out alone through the holidays, and I told her we had tons of room and that dad would be thrilled to meet her and she couldn't spend the holidays alone. And here she is." 

They talked more about the plans for the holidays. Stiles' dad had to work Monday, but he had the rest of the week off. Being the Sheriff had some advantages. He had never been able to get such a coveted vacation when a deputy. Scott's mom had to work Monday and Tuesday, but the advantage for her of being a senior nurse at the hospital was pulling day shifts. 

There were two houses to decorate, the traditional Piernik to bake, the annual viewing of the crazy amazing Christmas light display on Arboleda Drive, and presents to wrap. 

"Why can't I see what you got?" called Scott from outside the door. Stiles had thought they would be preoccupied all afternoon in Cora's room, but Scott had paused at Stiles' closed door on the way back from the kitchen. 

"It's a surprise," said Stiles. 

"But I won't even be there," whined Scott. He hated being left out. 

"Why not?" asked Stiles, not really paying attention as he taped down another corner. 

He was just finishing the gift tag when he realized Scott had not spoken again. 

"You still there, Scottie?" 

"You're right. Why can't I?" said Scott. "I thought Cora was coming here, but now she's going there, and I could join you for a few days. I took off through New Year's because I was going to take Cora around." 

"You'd be meeting her pack," said Stiles. "They can smell everything, you know." 

"What do you mean," asked Scott, sounding a bit uncertain. 

"Talk to Cora. I have wrapping to do." 

\- - - - -

Cora was hanging around in Stiles' room. Stiles had looked for other things of his mom's to share with her, and she now had the box of mementos scattered around her on the floor.

Clearly Cora had been most interested in the photos, but those had already been placed to one side, and Cora was looking at what appeared to be a school assignment. Stiles sat down next to her, and he immediately remembered what it was.

"We always started each day in seventh grade English with a writing warm up," Stiles recollected. "The teacher would give us the idea, and then we would write for the next five minutes. That day, we were supposed to describe what our parents were feeling at that very moment."

"My dad," read Cora from the paper, "is sitting at his desk at the Sheriff's Station and feeling grumpy about all the paperwork that he has to do. He’s always telling me that the Sheriff just dumps all the paperwork on the deputies, so he’s probably feeling resentful, too. My mom is sitting alone in the kitchen and probably feeling shitty and depressed because she’s dying from cancer and in pain all the time. But she might be smiling and feeling a bit happy, too, because she's going to visit a good friend to have lunch."

"My teacher knew about my mom." Stiles paused. “I was always writing about my mom's illness, and it sometimes freaked my teachers out."

Cora stared at the paper. "I never wrote about the death of my family. I was kind of hiding, even though I had friends at school, but D'Eric made me afraid, like anyone could be a bad person. So I never shared what happened to all of them with anyone. I just kept going to school."

Stiles sighed. Grief had been his companion for a good chunk of his life, so he could kind of understand. There wasn't anything to say. It was what it was, and how we dealt was how we dealt. There was no point in thinking about how one could have dealt with things better.

"What's this?" Cora asked, lifting up a tangled mess of string and ceramic pieces.

Stiles smiled, and began trying to untangle one of the pieces. "It's a mobile of the solar system. I had to remember all the planets in fourth grade, so my mom made this for me to hang in my room. Every night, I would recite the planets. This red one is Mars."

Cora was fingering one of the stars. "It's beautiful. You should have it hanging in your apartment."

"Way too much stuff in that place already," said Stiles in resignation. "But yeah."

"I like the shooting stars the best," commented Cora.

"I used to make wishes on them," sighed Stiles. "Especially when she started getting really sick. But it didn't work."

\- - - - - 

The week passed pleasurably, the poignancy of going through his mother's stuff just adding to the joy of being with the people Stiles loved most. Piernik, a Polish Christmas cake, was made and consumed. The Christmas roast beef was succulent. The houses twinkled and smelled pleasantly of cedar and pine. The light display on Arboleda Drive was viewed and admired. Scott and Melissa drove over in their pajamas to open Christmas presents on Christmas morning. 

Scott and Stiles had gotten Stiles' dad a laser distance measure for his golf game. It came with a clip to attach it to his hat and a watchband to wear it like a watch. They had gotten Scott's mom a leather coat she had been eying and waiting to go on sale. Cora surprised Stiles and Scott by giving each parent jars of homemade Beacon Hills raspberry preserves (she said it was a brand name used where she was from down in the Los Angeles area). John and Melissa gave the boys a new set of towels each, coordinated but in different colors. Stiles gave Scott a stack of DVDs that Stiles wanted to own, and Scott gave Stiles an XBox game Scott was desperate to play. 

Cora fit in comfortably, and Stiles knew by Christmas Day that the parents knew that Cora and Scott were more than just friends. The day after Christmas, they all went to Fourth Street to shop, and Stiles picked up a few last items to bring back to Beacon Hills.

Before they knew it, it was the 27th. Both John and Melissa were back to work, so they did their big hugs and farewells the night before. Stiles had dug out the duffle bags he had used to move stuff back and forth from college and threw them in the car. They drove back to the city, parked the car safely in the garage and went back to the apartment to pack yet once again.


	8. Another Home for the Holidays

D'Eric was waiting for them when they came through the portal. He cast a definitely critical look at all the luggage they had brought back with them. In addition to the backpacks Stiles and Scott wore, there were the two sizable duffle bags as well as a carryall that K'Aura was carrying in addition to her pack. D'Eric rolled his eyes and then reached for the two duffles. "I can manage those down the hill." He flared his nostrils when he was introduced to Scott. A quick glance at his sister and a curt "You must be Scott. Welcome." was all he offered before they trekked down the hillside.

When they got to the stables, D'Eric arranged the duffles and the carryall on three of the horses. He also saddled up a fourth horse for the unexpected Scott.

K’Aura couldn’t wait to tell D’Eric about Aunt D’Aura being Stiles’ mother. A slight lift to D’Eric’s heavy brows was the only indication that he was somewhat surprised. D’Eric grunted in acknowledgement, and Stiles had no doubt that D’Eric was going to cogitate about this revelation privately for a good long while before making any vocal response. They mounted their horses and headed out on the five-hour ride back to Beacon Hills.

As they rode, Stiles had to admit to a bit of schadenfruede. The ride had started out with Scott gushing at everything he saw, but by about three hours into the ride, it was clear he was suffering pains in his nether regions that Stiles was all too familiar with. For the most part, however, Stiles left Scott in K'Aura's care. Stiles rode slightly ahead with D'Eric, and as was usual, D'Eric hardly spoke for the first hour. It wasn't until they had left the town of Porter well behind that D'Eric asked, "How was your Christmas?"

Stiles smiled. "It was great. We had a great time showing K'Aura around, and my dad and Scott's mom thought she was great. One of the best things was watching K'Aura whup Scott's ass in Destiny."

"What's Destiny?" asked D'Eric.

"Oh," responded Stiles lamely. How does one explain video games in a world without electricity? "It's a game that requires skill at shooting and dexterity at dodging. It's not real though. It looks pretty real, but it's all images shown on a screen."

D'Eric looked a bit puzzled, and Stiles couldn't blame him. However, D'Eric gamely commented, "Well, K'Aura is pretty good at both those things. Scott doesn't look like much of a fighter. I'm not surprised she beat him."

"You read Scottie right," chuckled Stiles. "When you come to our world, I'll have to show you what it is. You are probably going to be totally bad ass at it."

D'Eric looked pleased at Stiles' assumption that he would be good at the game.

Over the next few hours, D'Eric visibly relaxed, sharing what the pack had done for Yule (their winter celebration). They had burned evergreen boughs and exchanged small gifts. Three days before Yule had been the new moon, which the wolves had celebrated with a long night's run through the woods around the house. D'Eric commented that it was nothing compared to their run at the full moon, but it was exhilarating all the same and a good chance for pack bonding.

Stiles asked something that he had been wondering. "What do you all do for jobs?"

D'Eric looked surprised at the question. "We don't really need to work. The Hale Pack has its own resources, and because of the problems with the Duke, we spend most of our time patrolling our territory. But we also need to keep connected with the community, so we do have 'jobs' in town.

"Y'Sac works at the library, but it's almost volunteer. E'Rica works as a receptionist at the police department. Boyd puts in hours at the town hall as a staff assistant. K'Ira is a receptionist at the local newspaper."

"I sense strategic placement in these job choices," noted Stiles. D'Eric nodded. "So I'm assuming P'Eter doesn't have a job, but what do D'Ani and K'Aura do all day?"

D'Eric shrugged. "D'Ani and K'Aura oversee the property and the functioning of the house. As you surmised, P'Eter does what P'Eter does. It seems to always be for the good of the pack, so I just let him do his P'Eter thing."

"And you just do the Alpha thing?" Stiles partly joked.

"The Alpha thing," D'Eric sighed. "I guess that's as good a way to describe it as any."

Stiles laughed at D'Eric's put-upon face, and it definitely made D'Eric almost smile.

By the time they reached Beacon Hills, Stiles felt like they were on more than good footing. It felt like they were connecting. Stiles couldn't say exactly what it was about D'Eric that drew him in. Sure he was amazing levels of good looking, and Stiles still blushed when he considered that he already seen the awesomeness of D'Eric Hale naked. But it was definitely something way beyond physical attraction, and he sensed that maybe D'Eric was feeling that, too.

They were greeted at the boundary to the Hale territory by the rest of the pack, with the notable absence of D'Ani. There was a good amount of nostril flaring which was, mercifully, mostly directed at Scott, and Stiles had to laugh at the very direct questions that came from E'Rica.

"What is all this stuff?" said D'Ani, who was waiting on the porch of the house, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

"It's Christmas," cried Stiles. He had forgotten how good-looking D'Ani was, and when D'Ani smiled at Stiles' announcement, Stiles could still feel warmth grow inside him. He really needed to get himself sorted. "That means presents!"

"Yes, yes!" cried K'Aura in agreement, grabbing her carryall. "Women, come with me!" K'Ira and E'Rica broke ranks and followed her into the house.

"What's that about?" asked Scott. Stiles had an idea since he had been with K'Aura at H&M, but he wasn't going to spoil the surprise.

"I have no idea," said Stiles, "but I come bearing many gifts. If I could have some assistance, please."

Dutifully, Y'Sac and Boyd took the two duffles into the house.

"Just put them in the living room and let me get them sorted," said Stiles, dropping his backpack at the foot of the stairs. He went over to the duffles and unzipped each one. "Ah yes," he said. "I come bearing exotic gifts from our world of global commerce." With that, he pulled out three plastic storage containers, each about a foot square. He snapped the first one open. "First, I bring oranges!" Stiles had noticed that aside from lemons, citrus had been a rarity at this time of year in this world.

"Fantastic!" said D'Ani. "Everyone gets sick of apples by New Year's Eve. This will be great." Stiles smiled at his appreciation. D'Ani took the string bag of oranges and placed them on the dining table.

"Second, I bring pineapples!"

Y'Sac gaped. "We can get these sometimes, but they come from Hawaii. We hardly ever see them here in Beacon Hills."

Stiles handed him the two spiky fruit. "Hey," he noted. "You call the islands the same thing we do." Stiles opened the last box and pulled out another string bag. "And last of all, I present to you kiwis."

There were puzzled looks all around. As Stiles had guessed, kiwis were not known in this part of their world. Stiles laughed. "It's a fruit, too. I'll show you how to eat them." He was quite pleased with himself. He looked at Boyd, who was not paying much attention to the fruit. "What are you looking at, Boyd?"

Boyd looked up. "What are these made of?" he said, holding up one of the boxes.

"Oh my god," said Stiles. "That's right. You don't have plastic here. It's a common material in our world. They use it for everything, including storage containers."

"This is amazing," said Boyd. "You can see through them, but they don't feel like they would shatter very easily, not like glass. And they are light!"

"Well," said Stiles, "you can break them if you step on them, but they won't break if you just drop one on the floor." Stiles was ready to proceed with a bit more about the miracle of plastics when there was a gasp that he was sure came from Scott. Stiles turned his head to follow the direction of Scott's gaze. Holy shit.

The three females in the household were coming down the stairs in clothing definitely not from this world. To say that the t-shirts and mini-skirts hugged every curve was an understatement. K'Ira was wearing a low-cut red tee with the words "Foxy Lady" spelled out in rhinestones. E'Rica's tee was pink and said "Bite Me." K'Aura's tee was black and the rhinestones spelled out "Dangerous." The men just gaped, and Stiles noted lots of nostril twitching. He could just imagine the pheromones.

"Gentlemen," called out Stiles in an attempt to regain their attention, "we cannot let the ladies dominate this moment." With that, Stiles pulled out a stack of black t-shirts, which he passed out. He noted that P'Eter, who had not been one of the original welcome party, was now lurking at the far side of the room. "You, too, Uncle P'Eter," he added, throwing a t-shirt in his direction.

Stiles couldn't hold back his laughter when the men shook out their gifts to show the design on the tees - a wolf howling at the moon. The laughter died in his throat when one by one, the men simply stripped off their shirts to put the tees on. Stiles had never in his life seen so much muscled flesh close up in one room, and he had to gulp. Even P'Eter, who had to be in his fifties, was in amazing shape.

"Hey," Scott elbowed him. "Don't I get one?" Thank you Scott, Stiles thought gratefully. He was sure he had been staring.

Stiles turned to Scott. "Now, now. I wouldn't leave you out even though you already got your Christmas present from me. Here you go." He handed Scott a t-shirt that he had put to the side.

Scott gave him a horrified look when he shook it open. Instead of a howling wolf, it was a fluffy puppy with the biggest eyes. "I hate you," said Scott, giving him a death stare. Stiles just laughed.

"I like puppies," said K'Aura, coming up behind Scott and touching his shoulder.

"So do I," said E'Rica and K'Ira.

"Aren't you going to put it on for me?" asked K'Aura in a husky voice, running her fingers through Scott's hair.

Scott blushed, but next thing Stiles knew, Scott had stripped off his shirt and put on the tee. K'Aura leaned over and gave him a kiss on the top of his head. Scott blushed even more.

"You all look incredibly fierce," said Stiles, looking around him at the muscles to spare.

"What's in the other duffle?" asked Boyd.

"Nosy, nosy," said Stiles. "But I guess it's time. You can open it up and hand the packages out."

Boyd unzipped the duffle and pulled out similarly sized foil-wrapped packages. "I think they're books," said Boyd.

"Don't ruin it," grumbled Y'Sac as he received his gift.

"Everyone has their gift?" asked Stiles after a minute of sorting and passing. "Okay. All together now. Unwrap."

There was a flurry of paper tearing and then silence. And then E'Rica squealed. "Oh my god. This is amazing!"

Stiles beamed. In E'Rica's hands, she held open a book that had sprouted a fuschia bush, pink blossoms dangling from branches.

"This is so cool!" was K'Ira's cry. She held open her book to show a 3-D scene of a long-haired woman walking through a winter scene, a fox following in her wake.

Stiles was delighted with the sounds of amazement. He had thought quite a bit about what to bring back for everyone. It couldn't be some electronic gizmo (he had no doubt that the potato clock would be a total fail), but he wanted it to reflect the technology of his world. He had hit on the idea of pop-up books when he noticed the pop-up greeting cards in the store.

E'Rica got a book of flower arrangements. K'Ira's book was of Japanese legends, including his world's ideas of the kitsune. Boyd's book was an interpretation in 3-D of the works of M.C. Escher. Y'Sac got one called Blue 2, a series of abstract constructions with a version of a 'Blue 2' hidden in each one for him to find. K'Aura's book was "Across America," and Scott was already eagerly talking with her about the different scenes that popped up. P'Eter looked up from his book, "Dragons and Monsters," and gave Stiles a sardonic look. Stiles smiled back at him.

D'Ani was eagerly opening the pages of his book, "How Electricity Works." Stiles said to him, "I know you don't have electricity in this world, so I thought you would be interested in understanding it."

D'Ani looked up and gave Stiles a broad smile. "This is incredible. You knew this would be of interest to me. Thank you." Stiles felt kind of gooey inside. K'Aura leaned over and told D'Ani she had something to show him to do with potatoes, and D'Ani looked at her in puzzlement. Stiles just laughed.

And then he looked over at D'Eric. For some reason, he felt nervous about his choice for the Alpha. D'Eric was holding the book open to a construction showing the interior of Harrod's Department Store in London. He was reading the text, and his face was unreadable. There was laughter and chatter throughout the room, but Stiles' focus was on the silence surrounding D'Eric. "'Neverwhere' is one of my all-time favorite books," Stiles couldn't keep himself from explaining. "It's about two worlds - one above ground, and one below. I had to give you a copy of the book, too, since the pop-up version only has scenes from the book. Neil Gaiman is incredible."

D'Eric looked up then and looked at Stiles. He didn't exactly smile, but the look on his face made Stiles feel more than warm. It made him feel like he had done something so incredibly right because the look on D'Eric's face was one he had never seen on the Alpha's face before, one of contentment.

\- - - - -

Dinner had been a raucous affair, and there had been much laughter over the kiwis. K'Ira hadn't liked them, finding them too sour, but Boyd had really liked them and finished the ones that had been sliced. Stiles collapsed on the couch after dinner, sated and pleased at how well the gifts had gone over. Before he knew it, Y'Sac dropped down beside him. Y'Sac leaned against him, and the next thing Stiles knew, Y'Sac had buried his nose behind Stiles' ear, audibly inhaling.

"You smell good," said Y'Sac leaning his head on Stiles' shoulder. He wrapped an arm across Stiles' chest and pressed full length along Stiles' side. Stiles could feel his heart beating faster. Aside from D'Ani, he couldn't remember when he had had such a good looking guy wrapped around him (sorry Scott). He could feel parts of his body responding to the warm muscles pressed against his side. Suddenly, Y'Sac raised his leg and his thigh rested firmly against Stiles' increasingly hard groin region.

"Um," muttered Stiles. "Sorry about that."

Y'Sac cracked open an eye and looked up at Stiles through his lashes. That and the curls and Stiles was gulping. He let out a yelp when Y'Sac moved his hand to rest on Stiles' erection. "You mean this?" chuckled Y'Sac. "Don't worry about it." With that, Y'Sac withdrew his hand and wrapped it back around Stiles' chest.

And then there was another body, this one definitely female, on his other side. Stiles turned his head to see E'Rica's mischievous eyes looking at him. She leaned into him, undoubtedly purposefully pressing her very ample and undeniably warm breasts against his arm. She, too, buried her nose briefly behind Stiles' ear. "You do smell good," she smiled. E'Rica wiggled against Stiles' side, ostensibly to get more comfortable, but Stiles found himself, if even possible, uncomfortably harder under the pressure of Y'Sac's thigh.

One by one, the members of the pack crowded around. Boyd wrapped himself around E'Rica, and a large hand ended up resting on Stiles' stomach. K'Ira snuggled on Y'Sac's other side. K'Aura threw herself across all of them, dislodging Y'Sac's thigh, by which time, mercifully, Stiles' erection had subsided. Scott seated himself on the floor, resting his head on Boyd's leg next to where K'Aura's head had ended up. D'Ani came over and settled between Stiles' legs, resting his head on K'Aura's stomach.

Stiles marveled at this cluster of bodies. It was clearly not sexual but something that they were all drawn to. He would need to read up more about wolves and pack behavior. Even D'Eric had settled on the floor next to D'Ani, and a warm hand rested on Stiles' left thigh. It felt quite nice, thought Stiles, to be in the middle of this. He looked around him, and then he noticed P'Eter standing against the wall by the dining room.

"Hey, P'Eter," said Stiles. "If this is your pack's idea of quality family time, then this means you, too. Come on over here."

To Stiles' surprise, P'Eter actually came over. He sat down next to D'Eric, and he wrapped an arm around D'Eric's shoulder. Stiles smiled when he noticed D'Eric leaning against P'Eter's shoulder.

There was an occasional readjustment of limbs, a laugh when there was a cracking joint, a groan at a limb that had fallen asleep, but overall, Stiles just lay sprawled there on the couch with all these warm bodies pressed against different parts of them. He wasn't very aware of how long they lay together there, especially since he was sure he had simply fallen asleep at one point. But suddenly, he felt cold, and he realized the members of the pack were getting up and moving around. A glance at the clock on the mantle showed that it was already past ten.

D'Eric, P'Eter, and Stiles would need to set out early in the morning, so it was clearly time to be getting to bed. They were riding down to Porter, which was the town right across the river from Calatu. There, they would take the train up to Macon. The ride down would take about three hours, so they would need to leave around 7:00a to make sure they would make the 10:30a train. The train journey itself would be less than two hours. Stiles had asked why they weren't just riding horses the whole way, and D'Eric had explained that it would take almost two days to cover the 90+ miles if they used a single set of horses.

Stiles went to his room in the house to get ready for bed. He appreciated the fact that he was prepared this time, with extra clothes and non-electric toiletries. He had shaved with a razor blade before, but it had been a while. He had left his Sonicare behind and brought a simple toothbrush and toothpaste. He also had dental floss and a bottle of mouthwash. All the comforts of home.

He was just sorting out what he would take on the trip to Macon and the Sacred Mountain - they only expected to be away two days - three days at the most - when he heard his door open and close. His heart started beating faster. When he turned, he found D'Ani standing at his door.

"Hey," said D'Ani, approaching slowly. "I wanted to thank you in a more personal way for my gifts."

Stiles gulped. The look in D'Ani's eyes was unmistakeable, and in spite of himself, Stiles could feel a physical response. Before Stiles could think, D'Ani had closed the distance, and familiar lips closed on his. Those lips were soft and moist, and they pressed firmly over Stiles'. There was a repeated pressure, and Stiles found himself moaning into the kiss, his lips parting. D'Ani's arms were wrapped around his back, pulling him tight against that very firm body, and Stiles could feel D'Ani hard against his thigh. Stiles had reflexively wrapped his arms around D'Ani's neck, and the kiss stretched out. It was another amazing kiss, and Stiles was lost in the sensation.

The hands against his back began to roam, rubbing circles at the small of his back and then moving lower. Stiles felt the excitement of having another's tongue invade his mouth, seeking, pressing, and sliding against his own. Stiles heard moans come from his partner, and he pushed his tongue further into that mouth to try and elicit more. The hands on his back were now at the hem of his shirt, lifting it. Warm hands pressed against his skin, and Stiles shivered. The lips left his and began kissing his eyes and cheeks and then moving across his jaw.

Stiles had wondered what it would be like to have that stubbled face pressed against his, and he moaned. But he abruptly realized that the face caressing his own was smooth. This was D'Ani. This was not D'Eric.

Stiles broke off the kiss and pulled his hands back to place them between him and D'Ani. He was breathing hard, but he knew they had to stop. He was a horrible person.

When he looked at D'Ani, D'Ani's face was a question. "What's wrong?" asked D'Ani, slowly leaning forward to initiate another kiss.

Stiles pressed his hands against D'Ani's chest, keeping him away. "Oh god," said Stiles, shaking his head. "I can't do this."

"Why not?" D'Ani asked. "I thought we were picking up where we had left off?"

Stiles gave him a small smile. "I can't do this to you. Something happened since I left." Stiles shuddered. This was so hard.

D'Ani stiffened and pulled back his arms. "What's happened?" He gave Stiles an assessing look. "Oh," he said softly.

"Oh," Stiles echoed. "Yeah."

D'Ani pulled even further back. "Wow. That's a surprise."

"It was kind of already there - me and this other person," scrambled Stiles, feeling the need to explain. "But I didn't think anything would happen, and you are amazing."

"So something happened since then," mumbled D'Ani. Stiles cringed at how hurt he looked. "You got your first choice."

"No, no," insisted Stiles. "Nothing's happened. It's just that, I feel like I should be honest with you. I mean, your kissing is amazing..."

"You've said that before," said D'Ani in a flat tone.

"It is. Really. But, I feel like a total douchebag, enjoying kissing you when I'm thinking of someone else. I like you a lot, and I don't want to hurt you."

"Too late," said D'Ani.

Stiles stood there silently. What could he say to that? He listened to D'Ani take in breath and exhale. It was not a comfortable silence, but for a change, Stiles didn't rush to break it.

D'Ani exhaled again. "Shit, Stiles. I really like you," D'Ani began. "I am hurt. But I also appreciate that you were honest with me."

"Thank you," breathed Stiles in relief.

"But," added D'Ani, "I don't think I want to talk to you right now."

"Sure. Sure," said Stiles. "I know."

D'Ani sighed and turned away. "Good night Stiles," he said as he opened the door. "And good luck tomorrow."

"Good night D'Ani," Stiles replied, watching the man slip out the door. He was soooo horrible.

\- - - - -

A minute later, Stiles was at Scott's door knocking. "If K'Aura's in there with you, tell her I'm really sorry, but I'm having an existential crisis and I need you. Like now."

There was mumbling and some shuffling, and a few minutes later, Scott came out in his puppy t-shirt and jeans. Scott opened his mouth, probably to grumble at Stiles, but the moment Scott saw Stiles' face, he shut his mouth.

"K'Aura told me the library is sound insulated for private conversations," said Scott, dragging him down the hall. Stiles loved this man.

They checked that no one was using the library and then went inside and shut the unusually heavy door. "Okay, spill," said Scott.

Stiles just covered his face and shook his head. "Oh, Scottie, I'm such a terrible, terrible person."

Without hesitation, Scott came and wrapped his arms around Stiles. He held him and rocked him for a while, and then he softly said, "Okay. It'll be okay. Tell me what's wrong."

Stiles just kept his face smooshed against Scott's shoulder. "I kissed him, and I really liked it, but really, I was thinking of this other guy. God. Am I a cock tease? I didn't mean to be." Stiles knew he was babbling.

Scott was rubbing circles on Stiles' back, and Stiles couldn't help but think of D'Ani. But Scott's rubbing was reassuring, and Stiles just rubbed his face more deeply into Scott's shoulder.

"So is this about D'Ani and D'Eric?" Scott asked gently. Scott might be a puppy, but he could read Stiles like a book.

"I don't even know if D'Eric likes me that way," mumbled Stiles. "But when D'Ani was kissing me, I realized I was thinking of D'Eric, and I told D'Ani to stop. And, God, he looked so miserable."

"I assume kissing you just a little while ago."

"He came into my room."

Scott made noises of understanding. "But you didn't let it go on, did you?"

"But his kissing was amazing. It made my whole body tingle."

"There's nothing wrong with enjoying his kisses," Scott reassured him.

"I'm a horrible person," Stiles repeated miserably.

"Stop it, Stiles," said Scott, giving him a little shake but not dislodging him from his shoulder. "Look, you and D'Ani were on the verge of starting something before you left, but now you realize that who you really want is D'Eric. That's how it is. You haven't led D'Ani on. You weren't the one to go to his room, and you stopped him to explain before things got too far."

"But what if D'Eric doesn't like me?"

Scott just sighed. "Then D'Eric doesn't like you. What can you do? But with D'Ani, you were, like, totally honorable. You can't help who you like."

Stiles let Scott hold him for a while longer before he pulled himself up. "Thanks. You are the best."

"You know I love you best," said Scott simply.

"Back at you," said Stiles.

\- - - - -

They parted at Scott's door with another hug, and Stiles walked slowly back to his room. He was just about to open his door when D'Eric was at his shoulder.

"Hello," said D'Eric.

Stiles held himself still in the doorway even though he had jumped out of his skin in his head. Stiles turned. "Hello back at you."

D'Eric was very close. Stiles found himself speechless.

"I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciated all the gifts."

"You're welcome," Stiles manage to say. He hadn't realized gift giving was so rewarding. D'Eric was looking at his feet, and Stiles took some strength from knowing D'Eric was probably as nervous as he was. D'Eric finally looked up, and Stiles took in the grey-green eyes and the stubbled chin. He gulped.

"The fruit, and the shirts," said D'Eric softly, moving a bit closer.

"Yeah," said Stiles mindlessly.

"And the books. My book." D'Eric just looked at him, and a smile emerged. Stiles felt like his heart was going to burst. "I've already read the first four chapters. It's amazing."

D'Eric moved even closer, and Stiles could feel their clothes brushing together. "It's one of my favorite books," was all he could think to say.

"I know," smiled D'Eric again. D'Eric's face drew even closer, and when he flared his nostrils, Stiles knew he would smell all Stiles' desire and arousal. That was kind of convenient. They just knew without him having to use words. He closed his eyes, anticipating the moment D'Eric's lips would touch his.

Except suddenly, Stiles felt D'Eric jerk away. He blinked and opened his eyes. "Wha...?" he muttered.

D'Eric looked furious, but he also looked hurt.

"What's wrong?" asked Stiles. His heart was beating furiously in his chest, and not in a good way.

D'Eric's lips tightened into a thin line. "I thought...," D'Eric began and then stopped. He looked away for a moment, clearly to compose himself. "I guess I was wrong," he resumed, looking towards Stiles but not meeting his eyes. "I know some people can be with more than one person at a time, but I can't."

Stiles didn't have to even think to know what D'Eric was thinking. "Wait, D'Eric. I can explain..."

D'Eric cut him off. "I can smell D'Ani all over you. What's to explain? He's a really nice guy. I know you were interested in him when you were here before, but I thought things had changed."

"They have!" Stiles cried, quickly lowering his voice. "They have. It's not what you think."

"I don't have to think," said D'Eric sharply. "I can smell it." Suddenly D'Eric's face fell, and Stiles could feel his own heart break a little at his expression. He looked so lost. "I just thought..."

And before Stiles could say another word in response, D'Eric had turned around and strode rapidly away down the hall.


	9. The Second Medallion

He hated the look P'Eter was giving him. It was angry, and judgmental, and pitying all at once. 

"Your timing, D'Eric," said P'Eter, "is terrible, as always." 

D'Eric didn't dignify P'Eter's observation with words. He just growled. 

"How mature of you," P'Eter responded. "I think I heard that you nearly choked Stiles to death when you thought he had given away the medallion. Didn't you tell him that the medallion was more important than anything, that the medallions were what gave meaning to everyone's death?" 

D'Eric was going to argue that he hadn't choked Stiles, just shaken some sense into him. Instead, he tightened his lips and said nothing. 

"So, on the evening before we set out to find the second medallion, which we suspect we can only find with Stiles' help, you choose to have an emotional tantrum, essentially telling Stiles to get lost. Very smart, nephew. I applaud your finesse." 

"Go fuck yourself, uncle." 

P'Eter tsked. "So eloquent. And what if Stiles now decides that he's not going to go with us? What will you do then?" 

D'Eric had no reply. 

They were standing in the library. D'Eric could smell that Stiles and Scott had been in here earlier. D'Eric was standing at the table in the middle of the room. P'Eter was posing by the fireplace with his arm resting on the mantle, looking smug, as he often did. 

P'Eter left the mantle and took a seat in the armchair beside the fireplace. He touched the fingers of his hands together. "Actually, I think Stiles will still go with us. I’d like to think I’m a good judge of character, and even though you’ve handed him his walking papers, he’ll still follow through on this because he said he would." 

"Why would he?" asked D'Eric cynically. 

"Because he's a good person. He's a caring person. He does what he thinks is the right thing." 

"Then why would he..." 

P'Eter cut him off. "You’re being ridiculous, D'Eric. Did Stiles even know you were interested in him?" 

"Of course he did. Everybody knew. God, the teasing from my whole pack. You'd never think I was the Alpha." 

"But," said P'Eter, "those are your wolves. They can smell how attracted you are to Stiles. But Stiles is human. How is Stiles supposed to know?" 

"The way he looked at me...," D'Eric began hesitatingly. 

"Stiles is a very generous soul," said P'Eter. "He has shown a generosity of spirit to all the members of your pack, and he’s even weathered the teasing from your wolves about his attraction to its members." 

"What does that have to do with anything?" D'Eric nearly shouted, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. 

"Stiles looks at everyone with kindness and a measure of lust," said P'Eter, not raising his voice. "That's how he is." 

"But I know he was intimate with D'Ani. This evening. I could smell it on him. It was SO strong." 

P'Eter shrugged. "Maybe he didn't think you were interested in him. D'Ani’s been very proactive in his advances towards Stiles. The early bird gets the worm, as they say." 

D'Eric just ground his teeth in frustration. "I did what you suggested. I went to his room to tell him how I felt. And when I was going to kiss him, I smelled D'Ani all over him." 

P'Eter was silent for a moment. "Don't you wonder why you encountered Stiles in the hall? We can tell that Stiles was in this very library not long ago with Scott. It hasn’t been that long since we were all together in the living room. If he and D'Ani were preparing to have sex, why weren't they still in his room when you went there?" 

D'Eric cringed at the mention of Stiles and D'Ani having sex. He kind of wanted to throw D'Ani against a wall, but how could he really blame him? D'Ani had a confidence and an easy way about him. That's what made him such an important member of the pack. It would make total sense for Stiles to choose D'Ani. 

"You’re being an idiot, D'Eric. And you never let Stiles explain, did you?" 

D'Eric was sure his silence confirmed his uncle's worst suspicions. 

P'Eter rose from the chair and walked to the door. "I think we've had enough therapy for one evening, and it's getting late. We’ll be spending at least one very long day together. More than enough for you and Stiles to work through things one way or another. And remember, our focus is on the medallion." 

D'Eric shook himself to clear his head. "You're sure this is what we need to do?" 

P'Eter nodded. "I don't remember much from before being injured, but my gut tells me we need to go to Macon. It makes a logical sense, too." 

D'Eric nodded in return. 

"Good night, nephew," said P'Eter, more gently than before. "Things will work themselves out. You can be happy, you know." 

P'Eter let himself out, and D'Eric let himself collapse into the chair P'Eter had vacated and put his head in his hands. 

\- - - - -

Stiles had woken up repeatedly during the night, his head filled with whats and what ifs, enough that he told himself to just stop thinking and stop feeling.

Breakfast was a desultory affair. Most of the pack were definitely not morning people. Stiles couldn't meet D'Ani's eyes and was just basically staying out of D’Eric’s way.

The pack followed them to the periphery of the pack's territory, but if Stiles was reading their looks accurately, they were all more than aware that Stiles and their Alpha had had some sort of falling out. Stupid werewolf senses. Scott and K'Aura each gave Stiles a hug and told him to stay safe. K'Aura also told him not to worry. Stiles wasn't quite sure what not to worry about.

The ride down to Porter to catch the train was surprisingly uneventful. There were no agents lurking in the shadows. It was fairly chilly when they set out, but the day was clear, and the winter sun made for a mild day and pleasant for riding. Stiles rode by himself at the front and surprised himself by enjoying the solitude. He was able, for the most part, to just empty his thoughts and watch the world go by. He knew P'Eter and D'Eric followed, and he might have heard the occasional word exchanged between them, but by and large he just accepted they were there and ignored them. If he started going in the wrong direction, he was sure they would tell him.

They passed through Petaluma and down to Toloma. Stiles began to recognize the commonalities among the various towns and cities. He could pick out the smithies by the clouds of dark smoke rising from smoke vents that rose several feet above the roof to minimize the danger from errant sparks. Post offices were easy to spot because of the stable of horses next door or just behind each, the distinctive blue and white livery for the horses and riders visible through windows and doorways. In general, each City Hall was the tallest building on the main street of the city. The City Hall in Petaluma was capped with a white dome which was glaringly bright in the slanted winter sun. The City Hall in Toloma was marked by a tower to one side with a large clock face on each of its four sides, visible even from where they were riding to the west.

Just south of Toloma, they turned east, the road following the marshlands that marked the northern part of Hishman Bay. Stiles distracted himself by repeating the names of the places in this world. It was kind of like how he remembered learning Spanish in high school. At first, he was translating all the time - casa for house; muchacha for girl; cerveza for beer. With this world, he was equating places, even if they weren't exactly the same. Toloma for Novato; Hishman for San Francisco; Calatu for Richmond; Macon for Sacramento. From what Stiles gathered of the history of this world, even though the Spanish had come into the area, the local tribes and cultures remained dominant even as cultures merged and groups assimilated. As a result, the names in this world came from the languages of the indigenous peoples rather than Spanish saints. If he kept practicing them, he hoped they would become automatic rather than stand-ins for the cities in his world.

Porter was the major railway stop on the north bank of the delta waterway that fed into Hishman Bay. It was a bustling port filled with people. To the south, Stiles could see a large number of ships, some at the loading docks of the city but many more waiting out in the open water of the bay. P'Eter directed Stiles to the east, and soon enough they arrived at the train station. They rode about a block past the station to a public stable, where they would be leaving their horses. Stiles dismounted to his right just as D'Eric dismounted to his left. They ended up brushing shoulders. It was the first time Stiles had made physical contact with the Alpha since the night before.

D'Eric volunteered to get the tickets, and P'Eter showed Stiles the way to the public conveniences. The train would be departing in about 30 minutes, so there was no rush. The toilet was much the same as at home. The one difference was that the walls of the room ended two feet below the roof and started one foot above the ground. Apparently, this permitted a good circulation of air that kept the smell in check. He found he didn't feel much need to talk to P'Eter either, so Stiles just followed where he was led and ended up on the platform for the train, sitting on a bench while P'Eter went to get something to eat. Just like the toilet, the train platform didn't feel that different either. It was definitely more old-fashioned in Stiles' eyes, lacking the brushed metal and glass walls that seemed to mark modern train stations in his world. However, there were rails, stairways, advertisements, newspaper vendors, crying children, and people juggling too many pieces of luggage, just like at home.

Stiles spotted D'Eric the moment he stepped out of the building where the ticketing booths were. D'Eric was still looking down, apparently checking the tickets and his change, so Stiles felt free to actually look at the man. D'Eric looked more or less his usual stoic self. There was a firm set to his features, the usual determination. But Stiles couldn't help but think D'Eric also looked a bit sad, although that could have been his imagination. Stiles felt a tightness in his chest at the thought that he might have had a chance with D'Eric, but he averted his eyes and just breathed. He was not going to do this to himself again, nor was he going to do this to D'Eric.

Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles could see that D'Eric had spotted him and was walking his way. With relief, Stiles could also see P'Eter just over D'Eric's shoulder. P'Eter caught up with D'Eric, and they exchanged words. Defintely, thought Stiles, D'Eric looks miserable. Did I really do that? Stiles strengthened his resolve to leave D'Eric alone.

The train pulled into the station, and P'Eter gestured Stiles aboard. The train to Macon ran four times a day, one of which continued east across the country. There were no reserved seats for the trip to Macon, and once Stiles noted where D'Eric had chosen to sit, Stiles found a window seat several rows away and facing away from D'Eric. There was no point forcing D'Eric to look at his face for the two-hour train ride to Macon.

Stiles stared out the window as the train pulled out of the station. He was on the right side of the train, facing south, and he was treated to views of Gypsy Bay, glistening, and he couldn’t ignore how familiar this all felt. Not long after pulling out, P'Eter sat down next to him.

Stiles steeled himself for awkward conversation. D'Eric undoubtedly had said something to P'Eter, but who knows what he had said.

"Would you like something to eat or drink?" P'Eter asked. "I'm going to the restaurant car, and I can bring you back a cup of coffee and a pastry."

"Oh," said Stiles in surprise. "That would be great." He looked at P'Eter. As usual, P'Eter was unreadable. Actually, in point of fact, P'Eter looked just like normal - a vaguely interested air about him with the potential for madness at any moment. "Anything would be great."

P'Eter nodded and rose and went down the aisle and through the doors between cars.

Stiles just let the scenery roll by. They were moving north now, and Gypsy Bay was no longer visible. P'Eter returned with a high-lipped metal tray that securely held two ceramic mugs in clips on one side. He released one clip and set a mug of coffee on the tray in front of Stiles' seat. He also set down a paper bag with something inside that had enough fat content to already be staining the paper with grease. "It's a butterhorn," P'Eter said, settling his own mug of coffee before him after tucking the metal tray beneath his seat. "As its name suggests, there is butter as well as sugar. I can't explain where the 'horn' comes from."

Stiles thanked him and then ate the butterhorn between sips of coffee. P'Eter seemed content to just sit there quietly next to him.

The train pulled into a station, and Stiles could see signs for the city of Gypsy, undoubtedly associated with the bay they had left behind. As they pulled out again, Stiles finished his last bite of pastry and washed it down with a last mouthful of coffee. He crumpled up the pastry bag and put it in the mug. P'Eter took the empty mug from him, and he placed both of their mugs back in the metal tray and slid it back under his seat.

Stiles looked again out the window, and he caught sight of something that he had vaguely registered as they were leaving Porter. It wasn't a distinctive building in any way - two stories and made of red brick with white wood trim. However, there was quite a regular flow of people going through the double-door entrance, and there seemed to be a regular flow of single birds flying to and from the building rather than a flock.

"What is that building?" asked Stiles finally, pointing.

P'Eter looked over. "That is a Pigeon Terminal. It's for long-distance communications."

Stiles paused in thought. "You use pigeons. You mean like homing pigeons?"

"Homing pigeons, carrier pigeons," P'Eter replied, "but the actual type of pigeon is usually called a passenger pigeon."

"Passenger pigeons are extinct in my world," said Stiles. "It's nice to see you didn't kill them all off. How does it work, the long-distance communication?"

P'Eter gave a jerk of his head towards the rear of the train. "There's a car that's dedicated to pigeons. They're loaded and off-loaded at each station from each city. When you want to send a message long-distance, the Pigeon Terminal takes your message and sends it as far as it can based on the pigeons it has on hand. If it's going further, the receiving terminal will route the message on."

"How fast can they convey a message?"

"I haven't used them extensively," mused P'Eter, "but I have been told that I can reliably send a message from Beacon Hills to Hishman in about an hour."

"That's pretty fast," nodded Stiles.

They watched the scenery go by together for a while without speaking.

"I should check on D'Eric," said P'Eter, rising from his seat. He stood there in the aisle. "I want him to be happy, Stiles," he said and then walked away. Well, that was cryptic, thought Stiles.

\- - - - -

The first thing that struck Stiles when they had exited the station at Macon was how familiar it looked. Old Sacramento, just south of the train station in Stiles's world, was a collection of 19th century redwood buildings that had originally been abandoned and left to squatters and to ruin, especially after a freeway separated that part of the city from the downtown. However, in the 1960s, following on the success of the development of places like Old Salem and Williamsburg, Sacramento restored the buildings of Old Sacramento, eventually turning it into a mix of restaurants, museums, and tacky tourist shops, all housed in old buildings on streets with raised wooden sidewalks and hitching posts. Macon was just like that only almost everywhere Stiles looked. To the south of the station, there was no freeway. There was a main roadway, but lining the roadway and beyond were brick and wooden buildings that would have done Old Sacramento proud. To the northeast of the station was a rise, which P'Eter told him was the Sacred Mountain, underneath which the dragon Macon purportedly lay. That was their destination.

"Not much of a mountain," remarked Stiles. He wasn't sure he would call it much more than a hill, even if he were being generous. More like a large mound.

P'Eter shrugged. "It's smaller than the Blessed Mountain, but the ground here is much softer. It's thought that the dragon Macon is sunk deeper into the ground, hence the lesser appearance above the surface."

It was now early afternoon, so they stopped at a restaurant to have lunch before proceeding. Stiles had a grilled cheese sandwich and a cup of tomato soup. He didn't register what they others ate because he could barely deal with having D'Eric so close. They had still not exchanged more than two words and, even then, nothing that went beyond being polite. P'Eter paid, and Stiles was once again conscious of the fact that he had no money in this world - no identification. What would happen if he were left on his own? It was a sobering thought.

The land around the base of the Sacred Mountain was parkland with a public museum on the southeast side and, according to P'Eter, the city library on the northwest side. They followed a path through the parkland and then took a gravel path that led them up the hillside. It was a gentle slope, and within twenty minutes, they had reached the summit.

Stiles didn't feel anything, but then again, he didn't feel anything on the Blessed Mountain either.

"Are you ready?" asked P'Eter. Stiles nodded, and P'Eter and D'Eric went separately to where the two pathways that led to the summit came out to stand guard. Stiles held up his right hand with the red stone ring. He closed his eyes and focused on the ring, and the image of a dragon's closed eye appeared in his mind. Suddenly the eye opened, and Stiles was looking into an eye of brilliant green. He opened his own eyes, and an oval portal shimmered before him. He couldn't see much through this portal. He had expected to see a scene of downtown Sacramento, which was where he placed the Sacred Mountain. Instead, it was like looking through a fog, with swirls of opaque whiteness drifting by. Nothing, or rather nobody, appeared to be attempting to come through the portal, for which Stiles was grateful.

P'Eter and D'Eric had both drawn close, and when Stiles turned to ask P'Eter what they were looking at, he was taken aback at the serious look on P'Eter's face.

"What's wrong?" asked Stiles. "What's on the other side of the portal?"

P'Eter actually looked pained, thought Stiles. Like a horrible thought or memory. P'Eter was quiet a while longer, and then he seemed to shake himself awake, and the normal P'Eter was back. "This is, I'm afraid, the Land Before Death."

Stiles gaped. "Um," he said, "that sounds, like, really horrible and melodramatic. Tell me that's just the name of a place and not a literal description."

"I'm afraid," said P'Eter solemnly, "that it is both."

"Okay," said Stiles, feeling a shiver or two even though the afternoon was quite balmy for winter. "Tell me more."

P'Eter looked at Stiles. "It's exactly what it sounds like. When people are on the cusp of death, when they are not yet dead but no longer consciously alive, their essence lingers in the Land Before Death. When they finally die, their essences leave the Land Before Death. It is a cold place, a place that is not suitable for the living."

"It sounds creepily like you've been here before," joked Stiles, hoping it was a joke.

"I believe I have," said P'Eter. 

Shit, thought Stiles.

They all looked through the portal at the swirling whiteness.

"I'm afraid to ask," said Stiles finally, "but do you think the medallion is in there?"

P'Eter nodded.

They stood there a while longer. Finally, Stiles shook himself and said, "Well, if this is what we're here for, then we should just get it over with." Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked to see whose hand it was, expecting it to be P'Eter's. It was D'Eric's.

"You don't have to go in there," said D'Eric softly, his eyes looking down at the ground.

Stiles looked at D'Eric, and even with D'Eric's eyes averted, he could see that D'Eric was unhappy about this turn of events.

"I'll be okay," said Stiles in response. "And like you said, this is really important."

D'Eric's head snapped up, and for the first time in it seemed like forever, D'Eric's eyes were meeting his. "It's too dangerous," said D'Eric. "I wouldn't know how to protect you."

Stiles registered D'Eric's words. They said an awful lot about how the older man felt.

"I will protect him," said P'Eter.

"What?" cried D'Eric.

"I will go through the portal with Stiles," said P'Eter calmly. "If anything happens, I will do my best to get Stiles back out through the portal."

"I should be the one," insisted D'Eric. "I'm the Alpha."

"Exactly," said P'Eter, "which is why you can't take the risk. You have a pack to take care of."

D'Eric glowered. In spite of feeling a bit of trepidation about going through the portal, Stiles couldn't help but feeling a bit warm inside.

"Okay," Stiles said. "Let's get this over with. Who knows when the Duke's guys may swarm up this sorry excuse for a mountain?"

P'Eter nodded. D'Eric frowned. Finally, he said, "Be careful," and stepped to the side.

Stiles and P'Eter stepped through.

\- - - - -

The first thing that struck Stiles was the cold. It wasn't the heat-sucking cold of a foggy wet day in San Francisco, but rather a chill that made him shiver from a sense of emptiness. "I don't like this place," said Stiles with a grimace.

"Neither do I," said P'Eter.

"If I had been here before, I sure wouldn't want to return. Are you sure the medallion is here?" asked Stiles, turning his head this way and that but not registering much difference no matter which way he faced. "I'm not sure where to even look."

"I'm almost certain it is."

As the fog and swirls of thick whiteness ebbed and flowed around them, Stiles caught glimpses of the ground. They were standing in the center of a series of concentric circles, perhaps carved into the surface. Stiles held up the dragon's eye ring to see if it would glow or maybe sprout an indicator. Nothing happened. He looked around.

"Well, where do we start? And what's this white stuff? It's like flying phlegm." Stiles cringed as a trail of the thick whiteness seemed to brush his shoulder, although he didn't really feel anything.

"Those are the essences of the not-quite-dead," said P'Eter. "We need to be careful not to stay here too long. Even though we can't feel it, they are drawing energy from us in their efforts to avoid the Land of the Dead."

"Work fast," confirmed Stiles. "I can get behind that." With the glow of the portal behind him, Stiles began to walk forward, waving his ringed hand before him.

They had walked about what seemed to be five minutes without any result. Stiles looked down. Strangely enough, they were still standing in the center of a series of concentric circles. He looked behind him. The portal was just beyond a thin veil of fog. It was the same size it had been when they had stepped through.

"Um," said Stiles. "I'm not sure we've made any progress."

"This is the Land Before Death," said P'Eter. "The laws of physics don't apply here. Space is different here."

"You know it's really creepy how much you know about this," said Stiles. A thought occurred to him. "What happens if you run into someone you know?"

"That I have no experience with," said P'Eter, “I don’t believe. However, I have heard that your connection to that person could draw them to you. I don't know."

Stiles nodded and the movement suddenly left him feeling a bit dizzy. He paused and held his head still to clear it. They walked further.

At first, Stiles was sure he was just losing perspective from being in the fog and whiteness for so long, but then he was sure that he could see a slight red glow. "P'Eter," he said, gesturing, "over there. I see something."

They moved together towards the red glow, and it indeed grew more intense as they moved. Soon they were over it, and as a wisp of fog cleared, Stiles could see a round disk with a spiral of red glowing on its surface. It was the medallion, and it was nestled in the center of the ring of concentric circles etched in the ground. He bent over to pick it up, and as soon as he did so, it was as if the ground bucked, and Stiles stumbled.

"Stiles!" he heard P'Eter call out. Stiles was now kneeling on the ground with one arm bracing himself up. The world seemed to be spinning, the fog doing a mad dance in circles around his head. He was vaguely aware of P'Eter calling to him. Stiles forced his attention on the red disc, and he reached out to pick it up. His fingers curled around the round object, and it seemed to grow warm in his grasp. But then, he felt the cold again, insinuating itself beneath his skin, and he felt like his mind was fading away in layers of white mist, layer upon layer of himself being pulled away into the fog until he saw only whiteness everywhere.

\- - - - -

When Stiles opened his eyes, he found himself lying on gravelly earth. A blue sky stretched above him, and while it was not hot, the sun above him was comforting in its gentle warmth. He blinked, and the scene did not go away. So I'm not still in the Land Before Death, he thought gratefully.

"Hey." It was D'Eric, leaning over him, brushing a hand over his forehead. "You scared me."

"Sorry," said Stiles sleepily. Then a frightening thought jerked him to alertness. "P'Eter!" he cried.

"Right here, Stiles." P'Eter came into view. "I'm just fine."

"He pulled you through the portal," said D'Eric. "I couldn't figure out why you were unconscious. You guys had just stepped through, and then suddenly the portal began to disappear."

"As I told Stiles," said P'Eter, "the laws of physics don't apply to the Land Before Death. That applies to time as well as space. It's also clear that it is Stiles that keeps the portal open, not just the dragon's eye."

"Did we get the medallion?" asked Stiles, still feeling a bit lightheaded and happy to stay on his back. He also liked having D'Eric's hand touching his head.

"You did great," said P'Eter. He took Stiles left hand and held it up to his face. On his middle finger was now a ring of red to go with the ring of blue on his index finger two slender dragons side by side. Soon he would look like Liberace with all this jewelry thought Stiles.

"How do you feel?" asked D'Eric. "I think we should find someplace to stay and let you rest."

Stiles gave it some thought. "I think I can stand."

It felt good to have D'Eric's arms holding him up, helping him to stand. D'Eric was a solid warm presence against his side. It was a bit shaky at first, but after a bit, the blood stopped rushing through his head, and he felt more or less normal. He took a tentative step, with one arm slung over D'Eric's shoulder and one of D'Eric's arms wrapped around his back. He took another step and then another.

P'Eter stood close by on Stiles' other side, but he left the supporting to D'Eric.

"So what happened?" asked Stiles, walking more steadily now but still carefully placing his feet on the uneven path.

"You called my name," said P'Eter, "and then you pointed. I didn't see anything, but I followed you, and suddenly you fell over. I reached you just as you collapsed completely. Fortunately, the portal was right behind us, and I pulled you out."

"Why did I faint?" asked Stiles.

"The effects of the essences in the Land Before Death, I suspect," said P'Eter.

"Why didn't they affect you?" asked Stiles. They had reached the bottom of the hill and were mercifully walking along a level pathway in the parkland.

"I would say they did, but, you know, werewolf constitution," was P'Eter's reply.

Stiles could clearly feel himself flagging, and they mercifully set him down on a bench along the path, and Stiles fell asleep to the sounds of D'Eric and P'Eter talking, collapsing against a very comfortable shoulder in more ways than one.

\- - - - -

The next time Stiles woke up, he was in a comfortable bed (although he missed the shoulder) feeling warm and reasonably himself. He looked over and saw D'Eric asleep in an armchair next to the bed. He chuckled.

Clearly that was enough to rouse D'Eric (super hearing, remembered Stiles).

"How are you feeling?" D'Eric asked, wiping the sleep from his own eyes.

"Good," responded Stiles. "Is it tomorrow?"

D'Eric smiled. "It's never tomorrow. But you did sleep through the afternoon. It's about 8. Are you hungry? Do you want dinner?"

Stiles felt his stomach and agreed that it felt a bit empty. "Yeah, I think I can eat. Can we get room service?"

"Of course," said D'Eric. "I'll go get the room menu and let P'Eter know you're up." He rose.

"Wait," said Stiles, and D'Eric stopped. He turned back, and Stiles couldn't help but smile at the stubbled face.

"What?" asked D'Eric a bit sharply, but it wasn't with a scowl.

Stiles paused. What did he want to say? He wasn't really sure, but he knew he needed to say something. To let D'Eric know that if he wanted to try, that Stiles wanted that, too. "I just want to know if things are okay between us." It wasn't really what Stiles wanted to ask, but it would have to do.

D'Eric looked down on him, and it looked like his face was softer. It was a look Stiles remembered from before. "Yeah," said D'Eric. "Things are fine."

\- - - - -

Stiles had conked out again promptly after eating, but by the time he woke up the next morning, he said that he felt fine. D'Eric had awoken at the sound of Stiles stretching, and when D'Eric lifted his head above the back of the couch where he had spent the night, he was very much distracted by the expanse of skin exposed by Stiles' lifting his arms above his head.

They cleaned up, breakfasted, and checked out, and at 10:00a, they were on the train heading back down to Porter.

This time, D'Eric left P'Eter to sit on his own and took a seat next to Stiles.

It was just like him to over-react, to jump to conclusions, to sabotage a relationship before it even got a chance to be a relationship. D'Eric looked over at Stiles, who was watching the city of Macon fall behind them, noting the moles on his jaw, following the curl of his hair around his ear, breathing in the scent of him. He smelled amazing.

Stiles turned away from the window, and D'Eric quickly averted his eyes.

"You are," said Stiles accusingly, "like totally sniffing me, aren't you?"

D'Eric looked up a bit sheepishly.

Stiles snorted. "You are so not subtle. I can totally hear your little nostrils flaring."

D'Eric noticed that while Stiles' tone was chastising, Stiles expression was fond. He took heart at that. "You smell good to me," said D'Eric, feeling a bit embarrassed the moment the words passed his lips.

"That's cool," said Stiles, "but you should know that I've been told that many times before. This is no longer a clever pick up line." He turned to look out the window again. It wasn't enough to disguise the fact that he was smiling.

They rode along in silence for a while, and D'Eric spent a lot of the time looking at Stiles' hands, which were resting on his thighs. He looked at the long slender fingers and the rings around three of them.

"Earth to D'Eric."

D'Eric looked up to find Stiles smiling at him.

"Either you were checking out my jewelry or my manly thighs," Stiles teased. "Either way, I will take it as a compliment."

"Maybe I'm just checking you out in general," said D'Eric. When he realized what he had just said, he could feel his face warm. He never said things like that.

"You are like a total puppy," chuckled Stiles. "I should have gotten that puppy t-shirt for you, not Scott."

D'Eric still felt slightly embarrassed, but he also felt pleased. "I'm a fierce predator," he insisted.

"You keep on thinking that," said Stiles, flattening his tone. "Maybe if you say it often enough, you might scare away a squirrel."

"You'll change your tune when I have you between my jaws."

"I can't imagine any of my body parts that wouldn't enjoy that."

D'Eric sputtered. That wasn't what he intended at all. He felt his face heat even more, and Stiles just laughed beside him. Then he felt Stiles put his hand on his thigh. The warmth of his hand quickly spread up his body.

"You said we were okay," said Stiles, suddenly no longer teasing, "but I'm not sure if we're okay just as friends, or if maybe we're okay to be something more than that."

D'Eric looked at Stiles' hand on his thigh and without overthinking it, put his right hand on top of it.

"I'm sorry," said D'Eric, thinking back to two nights before. "I'm not planning on giving you any references, but if you were to ask anyone from my past, they would tell you that I'm terrible at this."

"I think you're doing okay by me," said Stiles. D'Eric could feel Stiles’ fingers move under his hand, squeezing his thigh gently.

"That would be a first," groaned D'Eric. He thought of his attempted relationships while living in New Amsterdam. More than one person had accused him of being unable to communicate. "I'm sorry about not letting you explain about D'Ani. P'Eter said that there was no way you even knew that I might be interested in you."

Stiles sighed. "I still feel shitty about the thing with D'Ani. I wasn't fair to him."

"So you chose me instead of D'Ani?" D'Eric knew he probably sounded too needy, another thing more than one person had accused him of. And he was never going to ask Stiles what had happened between him and D'Ani. Stiles was here now, with his hand on D'Eric's thigh. That was all that mattered.

Stiles smiled. "I think we could give each other a good run for the money in the failed relationships department. I just didn't think anyone like you would even be remotely interested in me, and when D'Ani, who I also thought was completely out of my league - just to be clear, was so approachable, well, what can I say?"

D'Eric turned Stiles' hand over and his fingers traced the lines in his palm before entwining their hands together. "Why wouldn't I be interested in you? You're smart and funny. You took care of my sister. You brought gifts for my pack. You're even nice to P'Eter."

D'Eric heard P'Eter reply, "I heard that," from the other end of the train. He suspected P'Eter had been eavesdropping.

"Well, then," said Stiles, "it just goes to show you have good taste."

D'Eric heard the joking self-deprecatory tone in Stiles' voice. "I'm serious, Stiles. I think you're amazing."

D'Eric could hear Stiles gulp. "Wow," said Stiles before falling silent.

"I know," said D'Eric softly, "that I over-reacted. I always take a relationship ten steps ahead before even taking step one, and then I'm disappointed when the relationship doesn't work out."

"White picket fence and three children before we've even kissed, you mean."

"More or less," D'Eric conceded.

"You know," sighed Stiles, "we might not work out, even so."

D'Eric didn't believe that, but his instincts had failed him before, so he nodded. "I know."

"Just to warn you," said Stiles. "My problem seems to be letting go, even when there's nothing left to hold on to. It borders on stalkerish ex-boyfriend territory. Just so you know."

D'Eric nodded again. "I consider myself duly warned."

"But you still want to do this?" asked Stiles. His voice was very soft, and D'Eric couldn't miss the fear and yet the longing that was there.

"I do," confirmed D'Eric, and gave Stiles' hand a squeeze. Stiles squeezed back.

"Okay," Stiles agreed. "We're so bad at this that maybe it'll be like two negative numbers making a positive number. Our individual horribleness will cancel out the other’s."

D'Eric chucked. "You're ridiculous."

"Totally." Stiles was looking out the window again. D'Eric looked at the sunlight reflected off his long lashes, at the jut of his Adam's apple in the middle of the graceful slope of neck. "But maybe we should go slow," Stiles said softly. "I've never gone slow before. Maybe if we go slow, it'll work this time."

"Go slow," said D'Eric. "I can do that."

Stiles turned to look at D'Eric. "I just want you to know that I want us to work, D'Eric. And I don't want to mess things up by going too fast." D'Eric smiled. He looked so earnest.

They held hands and sat in comfortable quiet until they reached Porter.

\- - - - -

They picked up their horses in Porter, and D'Eric ignored the meaningful eyebrow lift from P'Eter. Stiles was, as usual, more direct and said to P'Eter, "Don't act so superior like you knew this would all work out."

"But I did," said P'Eter smugly.

Hand holding wasn't possible on horseback, and D'Eric couldn't think of anything to say that wasn't completely inane. The things he wanted to say fell in the ten-steps-ahead category, and he was not going to go there. He could, however, just look at Stiles and think about how it would smell just behind his ear or where his jaw met the nape of his neck.

They rode in a loose configuration of three, and they made a brief stop in Toloma to get a drink of water and a snack of apples and peanuts.

They reached the city of Petaluma, and Stiles asked for a stop to attend to the call of nature. They were only about 30 minutes from Beacon Hills, and the pack could probably already sense that they were drawing near. D'Eric and P'Eter were standing next to the horses, stretching their legs.

D'Eric looked over as Stiles emerged from the public convenience. Stiles had a determined look on his face, and D'Eric watched as Stiles strode purposefully toward him. He wasn't exactly worried, but the change in Stiles' expression was unexpected. Stiles walked right up to D'Eric, and before he knew it, Stiles had put his hands to both sides of D'Eric's face and pulled him into a kiss. It was wet and hard. There were definitely sound effects - it was hard to miss Stiles' moans, not to mention some throat clearing from P'Eter. And it was over way too soon. Stiles pulled away, his hands still resting on D'Eric's shoulders, but his whole body was shaking.

"Just so you know," said Stiles, still breathing hard. "I think we should still definitely go slow. But I've been wanting to do that like forever."

D'Eric laughed. He felt warm and bright inside. He felt fizzy and his body was tingling all over. He wrapped his arms around Stiles' waist and pulled him close. "Right. Slow," he murmured, his lips brushing over Stiles' as he said this.

And then it was a lancing pain in his mind, multiple needle-sharp slashes cutting across his consciousness. There were howls of pain and echoes of shocked surprise. There was frustration and anger, too, but mostly it was pain. He could sense that P'Eter felt it too, and D'Eric held himself still to process what he was feeling.

"What's wrong?" asked Stiles with concern.

D'Eric shook himself into alertness and looked at Stiles. "We have to get back to Beacon Hills. The pack has been attacked."


	10. Attack on the Home Front

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some typically Teen Wolf-style violence.

It was a very tense and spine-jarring twenty minutes of riding back to the Hale House in Beacon Hills. Stiles had no idea what D'Eric or P'Eter was sensing, but their expressions were closed and focused, and D'Eric simply looked grim. They had ridden at a full gallop, and the horses were foaming at the mouth when they drew up to the house. Stiles looked over at D'Eric, who was staring at the house intently.

"Are they in the house?" asked Stiles in a whisper even though he assumed D'Eric wouldn't be bringing him into a dangerous situation.

"Most of them aren't in the house anymore. It's just Scott and D'Ani." D'Eric's nostrils flared. "The others are somewhere to the east through the woods."

Stiles had already started to dismount when he was pulled up short.

"Wait, Stiles," barked D'Eric, also dismounting. "P'Eter, you stay with Stiles while I check things first."

P'Eter nodded, and Stiles couldn't miss the look that passed between then. "What's wrong?" stammered Stiles. "You said it was just D'Ani and Scott." Suddenly, it occurred to Stiles that just because the two were in the house alone, it didn't mean that they were actually okay. Before P'Eter could stop him, Stiles ran up the steps behind D'Eric and entered the house.

D'Eric tried to block his way, but Stiles could see that things were not good. The house looked as if it had been shattered by a tornado. The windows along the back of the house were empty frames, shards of glass like broken teeth along the edges, curtains shivering in the open air. The dining room table was broken down the center, the two halves leaning inwards, probably the result of something, or someone, smashing into the table top. Chairs were cast aside or crushed into jagged pieces of wood and fabric. There was broken ceramic and glass strewn across the floor, pieces of lamps and window glass littering the hardwood floor. There was also blood, streaks and splashes of it across the cream colored walls and soaked into the overturned couch fabric. It was hard to reconcile the destruction with the warm and comfortable room where he had cuddled with the pack. And then Stiles saw the pair of legs behind the overturned couch.

He pushed D'Eric aside and ran to the other side of the couch, glass crunching under his feet. It was D'Ani, blood covering half of his face.

"Oh god," moaned Stiles, leaning over the unconscious man. Stiles noted with relief that D'Ani was breathing, but he was less sanguine about the bruises that were rising on his cheek and jaw.

"He's undoubtedly been knocked unconscious, but his heart rate is good, and it looks like it's just a scalp wound. Maybe a concussion, but nothing more serious that I can sense." It was P'Eter, who had come up next to him.

Stiles nodded. He was just about to ask whether they should move him when he saw out of the corner of his eye D'Eric move towards the dining area.

"Did you find Scott? Is he okay?"

The fact that D'Eric didn't answer right away brought on shivers. Oh god, thought Stiles. Not Scott.

D'Eric was now kneeling down next to the broken dining table. Stiles looked at P'Eter, who gave him a nod, and Stiles hurried over to D'Eric's side.

What he saw allowed him to breathe out in relief. Scott was lying partly on the broken table and partly on the ground. However, it was clear he was breathing, and there were no visible signs of blood or injury. D'Eric touched Scott's cheek, and Scott's eyes fluttered open.

"Hey," Scott said feebly. Stiles kneeled and took one of Scott's hands in his.

"Hey Scottie. We're here," said Stiles. "You're going to be okay."

Scott gave Stiles a weak smile, which quickly vanished.

"What's wrong, Scottie?" Stiles asked anxiously. "Come on. We'll get you up and put you somewhere more comfortable."

"Don't move him," said D'Eric brusquely.

Stiles froze, even as his body leaned forward, ready to help Scott sit up. "Why not?"

Scott gave him a confused look. "I can't feel my legs, Stiles."

Stiles swallowed hard and looked at D'Eric. D'Eric wouldn't meet his eyes and just looked down at Scott. "Stiles," he said with a disturbing quietness. "They broke Scott's spine."

"No," Stiles breathed out. It was too horrible to conceive of. "It can't..." He looked again at Scott, and it tore at him to see the pained acknowledgment in Scott's eyes.

Stiles' thoughts immediately turned to all the things that Scott wouldn't be able to do now - walk, stand, make love with K'Aura, go to the bathroom unassisted. It was horrible, and Stiles could conceive all too well of the ways Scott's life would now be compromised.

Stiles was trying very hard not to cry. "Scottie," he said with a hitch to his speech, “I’m here for you." He gripped Scott's hand more tightly in his own. He felt D'Eric wrap an arm around his shoulder.

"Can't we do anything?" Stiles asked D'Eric desperately. Maybe there was a magic spell that could fix Scott. They were in a world where magic was real. "Maybe a witch can fix him? A magic potion?"

D'Eric squeezed his shoulder.

It took a moment for Stiles to register that D'Eric was speaking. He was very soft, and when Stiles indicated he hadn't heard, D'Eric repeated himself.

"I could give him the bite."

Stiles stared at D'Eric. "You mean, turn him into a werewolf?"

D'Eric nodded. "If I give him the bite, his body'll slowly change, and then it'll heal itself."

Stiles spluttered, "Then what are we waiting for?"

D'Eric's soft look scared Stiles immensely. "First, I need Scott's consent."

Stiles looked down at Scott, whose eyes were closed. "What else?" he asked. He knew there was more.

"Second," D'Eric continued, "it might kill him. He might die."

"What?" cried Stiles. "Why might it kill him?" He looked frantically between his best friend and D'Eric.

"Not everyone's body is able to accept the bite. Sometimes, a body rejects it, and the result can kill."

Stiles gulped. He was back to things he couldn't imagine. He couldn't imagine Scottie not walking beside him, wrestling with him as they played video games. He simply couldn't imagine a world without Scott in it.

"It's not your decision to make," said D'Eric quietly. "What do you want to do?"

Stiles looked up, confused. Then he realized that the first part was directed to him. D'Eric was now looking down at Scott, whose eyes were once again open and looking intently at D'Eric.

Stiles was distracted for a moment when he heard coughing and moaning from the other side of the room. He heard P'Eter say D'Ani's name. D'Ani was coming to. Then he heard Scott speak.

"Do it," Scott said simply. Stiles looked over and saw D'Eric nod.

It was over before Stiles really registered what was happening. One second, D'Eric was gently taking Scott's hand. The next, D'Eric had bitten into Scott's forearm.

Scott let out a shout, but it sounded more like one of surprise than of pain. Stiles looked at Scott's arm as D'Eric pulled away, and he was surprised at how little blood there was. He had expected huge glots of blood to stream down Scott's arm. Instead, there was a broken ring of red spots where D'Eric's teeth had broken the skin. Stiles looked at D'Eric just as the last vestige of wolfiness faded from his features.

Scott let out a moan and closed his eyes.

"Now what?" asked Stiles. "How long will it take?"

"At least 24 hours," said D'Eric. "If he has a bad reaction, that will happen sooner."

Stiles nodded. "I'll stay with him and D'Ani." He knew D'Eric needed to get to the rest of his pack.

D'Eric leaned forward and kissed Stiles gently on the lips. He pulled away and stood. His eyes looked somewhat sad, but he nodded, and without any more words, he and P'Eter were out the front door.

\- - - - -

D'Eric and P'Eter tracked the pack and the attackers to the eastern edge of the Hale property. There was a disused dirt road along the boundary, and across from that was an abandoned two-story brick building, an old factory of some type. It had been empty the last time D'Eric had done his rounds. The windows on the lower floor were boarded over, and virtually all of the windows on the upper floors were broken out. D'Eric could sense his wolves inside, a cluster of anxiety and pain. There was a human that he couldn't identify. He could also sense the presence of five unfamiliar werewolves, Alphas like himself. If the pack had been attacked by Alphas, it was not a surprise that they had been overwhelmed.

There was not much point in stealth. D'Eric could detect the presence of the other Alphas, and they no doubt could sense him and P'Eter. And if there were five of them, then his and P'Eter's odds were not good.

D'Eric and P'Eter walked towards the building, stopping about fifty feet away at the edge of an area paved with stones in front of the building. They were facing a set of barn doors set into the wall, and D'Eric could sense the Alphas just beyond.

The sound of one of the barn doors sliding open was jarring in the quiet of the late afternoon. There was a faint light coming from within the building, and the light was enough to cast the figure emerging from the building in shadow. D'Eric could see that the figure held a cane, but the cane never touched the ground. Clearly the bearer didn't really need it. There was a clicking sound, and a female drew up to the first person's left. The female walked in an odd fashion, and when D'Eric looked down at her feet, he saw that she was barefoot with extended claws. These were clicking against the paved stone. Then a third person came forward. It was a man, a big man, towering over the central figure by at least six inches and probably more. He was also muscularly massive, twice the bulk of the person in the middle.

"Hello D'Eric," said the man in the middle. "We meet at last."

"I don't know you," grumbled D'Eric as he instinctively started shifting into his half-wolf form.

"But I know you," said the man calmly, "and that is what matters."

D'Eric growled and leaned forward, his body tense. P'Eter had also shifted into his half-wolf form, and stood at his side.

"And P'Eter," added the man. "I had always suspected that you weren't dead. How does D'Eric feel about the fact that you killed L'Aura?"

"What do you know about L'Aura?" barked D'Eric.

"Enough," said the man. "But really, you should ask your uncle. He knows everything."

P'Eter said nothing, but D'Eric could sense that he was ready to let loose. P'Eter had hardly reacted to the man's words, except for a sneer.

"Who are you?" D'Eric spat out.

"What your mother always warned you about, of course," replied the man. "I'm Duke H’Lion."

D'Eric growled. He had guessed as much. "I'm here for my pack. Let them go."

"Impatient." The man tsked. "Of course you can have them back when I'm ready, although I'm afraid one of them is really the worse for wear."

D'Eric tried to detect whose pain was the most serious, but he couldn't single out any one of the pack in the cloud of pain that came through their connection.

"Actually, I'm rather impatient, too, D'Eric. I'd like the medallions, please." The Duke held out his hand.

"I don't have them," snapped D'Eric, and he gave an anxious thought to Stiles back in the house.

"I didn't really think you did, but you are standing between me and the medallions." The Duke gave a slight nod, and D'Eric could sense the two werewolves behind the Duke making the shift as well.

D'Eric went on the offensive and charged forward, jaws open and claws extended. He hurtled himself towards the big man on the right. D'Eric was still in the air when he felt claws ripping into his left side. The blow threw him to the ground, but D'Eric rolled back on to his feet. The tears in his skin burned. Before D'Eric could sight his opponent, he was tackled to the ground, and the man pinned him to the ground. D'Eric realized his opponent was probably twice his bulk, and from the force being exerted on his spine, he may have been twice as strong.

But D'Eric was not going down that easily. He bucked and snapped his body, breaking his opponent's hold. With a twist, D'Eric had shifted to the side, and when the man reached to pin him again, he stumbled as his arms grappled with empty air. D'Eric charged forward and grabbed the man's shoulder in his jaws, biting down hard to hold on while he used his claws to rake both the man's chest and his back. The man bellowed a roar and, with a force D'Eric had never experienced before, cuffed D'Eric so hard that he was thrown across the stone pavement onto his back.

D'Eric snapped himself onto his hands and feet with one quick move and eyed his opponent. In the background, he heard P'Eter's frustrated cry, but he had not harbored much hope that P'Eter could defeat an Alpha. It was a testament to P'Eter's abilities that he was still fighting.

"Enough playing around, E'Nis," snapped the Duke. And suddenly D'Eric felt a piercing blow against his lower back, a searing pain that lanced through his body and then sent a shockwave of pain through his limbs. "Hold him in place."

D'Eric could hardly focus, the pain overloading his senses. But it was clear to him that suddenly he couldn't move his torso. He reached blindly behind him with his right arm, and his hand wrapped around something thin and cylindrical. It was embedded in his back. D'Eric looked beneath him, and he could see that the object had torn right through his body and lodged into the stone pavement underneath him. D'Eric couldn't get any purchase, and the object held his body so close to the ground that his legs were ineffective.

"Thank you, E'Nis. Just keep him there, and I'll go in search of our little portaljack."

Fear for Stiles and the others opened D'Eric's eyes wide, and he could see the Duke walking away towards the woods and the Hale House. The cane was no longer in his hand. It was undoubtedly the object that had pierced his body and now held him trapped. There was a jerk on the cane, and a fresh lance of pain cascaded through his body. "Hold still." The giant of a man. E'Nis.

There was a clicking. "He's kind of pretty," said a female voice. D'Eric focused on trying to ignore the pain and couldn't be bothered to look up. "A bit of a waste." D'Eric felt a pressure on his back and then there were knives slicing through his jacket and his skin. He allowed his eyes to look towards her, and he realized that the female was using the claws on her feet to slice through his clothing. D'Eric clenched his eyes closed as the claws dragged across his back again, and he could feel cold air against his back as the strips of torn leather and cloth were pulled away.

"Fuck off, K'Ali." That was E'Nis.

"Mine is no fun," K'Ali whined. D'Eric was relieved to detect P'Eter's heartbeat, but it was clear that P'Eter had been seriously hurt.

D'Eric's attention was suddenly pulled to a familiar voice.

"No way. You fucking broke my best friend in half. There's no way I'm going to help you." For some reason, the anger in Stiles' voice gave D'Eric strength.

"I think you will." The Duke's measured tone was chilling.

There was a cry of alarm from Stiles. "Oh my god! What are you doing to him? D'Eric!"

"He's fine," said the Duke. "Once I pull the javelin from his back, he'll heal. It'll hurt a bit, but no harm done."

"You are fucking crazy," screamed Stiles, his voice laced with anger. "Let him go."

The Duke made a tut-tut noise, like he was calming a recalcitrant child. "Stiles. You don't have a choice."

"You're going to kill us all anyway. Fuck off."

There was a harsh slap of flesh against flesh, and Stiles cried out. D'Eric wanted to reach out to Stiles, but his body wouldn't obey him.

"Listen well, Stiles. You are right. I am going to kill you all. But I can kill your pack slowly and painfully. I can draw it out so that they die over the course of weeks. They will be screaming to die. But you can cooperate. And then I might kill them quickly. Your choice."

There was silence, and D'Eric could only imagine the face that Stiles presented to the Duke.

"Thank you, Stiles. E'Nis. K'Ali. I'm taking E'Than and A'Dan with me. We're heading through the portal in Calatu. Give us forty-eight hours. If we're not back by then, you can start taking them all apart piece by little piece."

"Stiles," D'Eric tried to cry out. But it was barely a whisper, and the Duke led Stiles away.

\- - - - -

It was like deja vu all over again. He found himself on horseback with a good amount of time to dwell on his own thoughts.

The pack was in a very precarious place, but Stiles was not going to focus on the negative. As long as they were alive, there was a chance they could get out of this. He nearly collapsed in nausea when he saw D'Eric impaled into the ground, his bare back an expanse of bleeding lines. But D'Eric was still alive. P'Eter was a limp form on the ground not far away, and a circle of black powder had been laid around him. But it looked like he was still alive, too. Stiles had seen into the abandoned brick factory, and although it was too far away to be sure, it looked like the rest of the wolves were being held inside. There were streaks of blood all across the stone pavers, but Stiles wasn't going to dwell on that. They were werewolves. They could heal.

Stiles thought he was prepared for the weirdness this magical world had to offer, but he had to admit he was taken aback when he saw this enormous werewolf in the factory. It had to be at least seven feet tall, and it was massive. That wasn't actually the crazy thing. It was when the werewolf began to split in two, separating in the middle like a bizarre transformer toy, the two halves resolving themselves into two fairly normal and very similar looking fair-haired men. He was to learn their names later: E'Than and A'Dan, the twins. Or not twins as it were.

As for D'Ani and Scott, Stiles had told them to play dead. Stiles had been standing by the front window, looking in the direction D'Eric had gone. When he had spotted the unfamiliar figure approaching through the woods, Stiles had gestured to the two to lay low. He had walked out of the house and down the front steps to confront the man.

It really couldn't even have been called resistance. Before Stiles could do anything the man had Stiles in a firm choke hold and was demanding the medallions. Stiles recalled saying something inappropriate, but the blow to his head in response knocked the exact words out of his memory. He took off the two rings, and when they had resumed their medallion forms, he handed them over. The man then gripped one of Stiles' arms and pulled him back towards the woods. Stiles suspected there were definitely claws involved, but when he looked, there was no blood. At least he had distracted the man enough that he had ignored D'Ani and Scott. Stiles only hoped the bite took. It might not matter in the long run, but he was willing to take what hope there was.

It was almost predictable, the shock on the man's face when he realized the medallions had disappeared from his pocket.

Stiles took pride in the fact that he didn't wet himself when the man grabbed him and came in close enough to bite Stiles' face off. It was very creepy that Stiles couldn't see his eyes through the opaque pair of dark glasses. These weren't sun glasses. These were pieces of solid black, like slices of obsidian. Coupled with his lean, hungry looking face and the Bela Lugosi hair, this was definitely something out of a nightmare.

"Well, my little portaljack. I guess I'll need to keep you alive to the bitter end. I guess I'm lucky I didn't kill you too soon."

That had not been at all reassuring. And now, he and creepy Mr. No-Eyes plus a pair of blond muscle boys were riding towards Calatu. Well, really one enormous scary werewolf that split into two pieces of calendar beefcake. Perhaps he should be flattered that it took three werewolves to keep eyes on one little Stiles.

The Duke, who had made it clear who he was during their stumble through the woods, was a man of few words. However, he clearly knew about the medallions, which, Stiles, realized, shouldn't have been that surprising. They had gotten the blue medallion back, but the Duke's agent had had it in his grasp. And the three of them had been a bit suspicious about how uneventful their journey to Macon had been. Undoubtedly, the Duke's minions had been tracking them the whole way.

In any case, the Duke had also surmised that each medallion was associated with a portal. The location of the third portal, the one that no longer functioned in Hishman (or San Francisco), seemed to indicate that that third medallion was in that vicinity. And since there had been one medallion in this world and one medallion in the Land Before Death, it stood to reason that the third medallion would be in the third world, Stiles' world.

Stiles behaved for the ride. Given that the Duke could probably easily communicate with his pack, there was no sense in trying to do something that was probably destined to fail big time anyway.

They rode through the early evening, and Stiles found himself nodding off seated on his horse. It had been a very long day. His ass no longer burned from the saddle, and without the distraction of the pain in his thighs, he was lulled by the gentle up and down motion of his mount.

He woke up when his body realized they were no longer moving.

It was still a good week before the full moon, but there was enough moon to see by on the trail up the Blessed Mountain. Stiles recognized a gnarled tree along the path, and he was able to spot the rocks that marked the peak well before they were near it.

They were standing on the rocky summit, the city of Calatu bathed in the lunar light.

"I just want to remind you," said the Duke. "I'm sure that active little mind of yours has been plotting how you might get away from me when we are in your world and not mine. I just want to remind you that should I not return, the fate of your pack will be the same. A very painful and prolonged departure from this world."

Stiles nodded. He had actually not given getting away any thought at all. People always tried that in the movies, and they were always caught. He wasn't going to be stupid.

"Got it," Stiles answered. "No hijinx. You three ready?"

The Duke nodded. Stiles held up his right hand and the dragon's eye ring and closed his eyes. He was a bit pleased to hear the intake of breath, although he wasn't sure who was surprised, the twins or the Duke.

"We need to move through quickly, especially if you don't want to attract undue notice," Stiles instructed. "Remember, I need to retrieve the dragon's eye from the socket on the wall to close the portal, so don't freak out when I walk away from the portal. I assume you'll be going through first, Mr. Duke."

"The better to keep tabs on you, my little portaljack." The Duke turned to the portal and walked through as if he did this every day. Stiles had to give the guy credit for a cool head.

Stiles followed. Once in the station, he moved to the ceramic dragon on the wall, ready to withdraw the dragon's eye from the socket once the twins were through. The Duke stepped with him.

They had taken fewer than three steps away from the portal when there was what Stiles could only later describe as a detonation. Only there was no bang, just the sound of two screams that were cut off almost as soon as they began and a blast of air that pushed Stiles to the ground as if he had been felled by a sack of potatoes. There was a loud crack, and then there was silence. Until there were screams.

Stiles felt a strong grip on his arm as he pulled himself upright.

It was a horror show. That was the only word for it. Stiles was looking towards the portal and the mass that lay on the ground before it. The thing that lay on the ground was clearly made of flesh and blood, but it was not human and it was not a werewolf either. There were limbs, many of them, jutting out from what only loosely resembled a torso. There was something that must have been a head attached to the torso, but another head protruded from the side of what could have been the neck. But not an entire head. Just part of one. A partial leg jutted out from the calf of another leg. The thing was covered in rags of dark cloth, and the worst thing was that life continued to pulse as limbs twitched.

"What happened?" Stiles asked the Duke. "Should we try to take them back through again?"

The Duke looked stunned but controlled. He shook his head. "I would say traveling through portals does not agree with them."

Stiles gulped. His eyes dwelled on a twitching finger that split at the tip, two fingernails scratching futilely on the station floor tile. Twins but not twins. Definitely not twins now.

"We need to get moving." The Duke looked preternaturally calm, and Stiles was a bit taken aback that the Duke was just going to abandon the twins like that, although what could be done for them at this point was not really a question. Stiles suddenly realized that the Duke had removed his spectacles. He was looking into the Duke's steel grey eyes. Stiles nodded. They had less than two days now to find the last medallion and get back to Beacon Hills. Stiles turned to the ceramic dragon, remembering to retrieve the dragon's eye.

Shit. He must have said this out loud because the Duke turned. "Well, that's a complication," the Duke said.

The dragon's eye lay on the floor beneath the ceramic dragon amid shards of clay and green glaze. The loud crack that Stiles had heard was apparently the rupturing of fired clay. The ceramic dragon on the wall no longer had an eye socket. The portal was out of commission.


	11. The Third Medallion

Stiles and the Duke had slipped away in the confusion at the BART station and caught a cab to Macarthur Station. Stiles tried in vain to get the image of the monstrosity that had emerged through the portal in their wake out of his mind, and even though the twins (or not twins) were the bad guys, he hoped that their grotesque melding had destroyed any consciousness on their part. He also wished them a speedy death. The Duke had been silent during their cab ride, and at first Stiles thought he was lost in his observations of this different world. However, the Duke made some things very clear when they were on the BART train and heading back into San Francisco.

"I may not have my werewolf senses in your world," the Duke began, "but I want to emphasize that I am far from weak, Stiles. Even without E'Than and A'Dan, I am very capable of hurting you."

The Duke was not even looking at Stiles, but Stiles was under no illusion that the Duke was unaware of his every move.

"And just so we're very clear," the Duke continued, "I am also very capable of hurting those you love in this world, not just in mine."

"What do you mean?" said Stiles very hesitatingly.

"If you do anything to hinder my search for the medallion, I will leave your father a helpless cripple for the rest of his days."

Stiles was stunned. How did he even know about Stiles' family?

The Duke turned and faced Stiles. Without his obsidian spectacles, Stiles expected him to look more human. But the grey eyes that confronted him were icy cold, and Stiles shivered. "I assume you understand me very clearly, Stiles. You are not a stupid man."

Stiles nodded.

The Duke gave Stiles a thin smile, and it was worse than his normal expression.

\- - - - -

They were back in Stiles' and Scott's apartment. Stiles was reviewing images on Google while the Duke sat on the couch with a glass of scotch. If Stiles didn't know better, he would have assumed the Duke was enjoying the slight buzz from the alcohol, but he wasn't going to underestimate the man, werewolf or not.

"I don't know where the medallion might be, but I figure our first priority is to find the third portal since the one in Richmond is out of commission for the moment." Stiles clicked on images while he spoke, considering and then discarding ideas.

"That is your priority," said the Duke. "My priority is to find that third medallion, and knowing your mother came to this world to hide from me, I suspect the medallion is very near."

"My dad has boxes of my mom's stuff in the garage," Stiles said, immediately regretting his words since they might result in the Duke getting near his father. "I have some stuff of hers though," Stiles hastily added. "Mostly art projects we did together. Some photos. Albums."

"Are you sure there isn’t something else?" asked the Duke over another sip of scotch. "There's no point hiding anything from me."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "I'm not trying to hide anything from you. You have everyone in my life at gunpoint. I get it. Sheesh." Stiles paused his Google search. "Anyway, you can search our apartment. Knock yourself out."

The Duke nodded. "Very well. And the portal?"

"Well," said Stiles, "you've seen the ceramic dragon wall at the Richmond Station. Well, what was left of it after, you know. It occurs to me that the dragons in your world might manifest themselves in a symbolic form in our world. The ceramic makes sense in a way since they're supposed to be underneath those mountains. Ceramic is clay, which comes from the earth."

"Your brain makes some very interesting connections, Stiles." The Duke almost sounded impressed. Stiles refused to be complimented.

"So I'm searching for ceramic dragons or dragons made from something in the earth, here in San Francisco," Stiles continued. "I'm guessing they aren't artifacts in a museum, since those could be moved around too much. And it's hard to search very far back historically. Anyway, I have two leads. The first is the dragon gate that marks the entrance to Chinatown. The second is a fountain in Union Square. It was made by a local artist, Ruth Asawa, in the early 70s, and it's cast bronze and not clay - but metals come from the earth, so I think that's worth a try. There's a dragon on one section of the fountain. The problem with both of them is how public they are, but I guess we'll worry about that after we figure out if they're the keys to the portal or not." Stiles knew he was babbling a bit.

"Will it take long to get to either of these places?" the Duke asked.

"I'll drive. At this time of night, we should be able to get there in twenty minutes. And it'll be easy to park."

\- - - - -

They easily found a parking space on Grant Avenue just beyond the dragon gate. Stiles was now looking at the two stone figures to either side of the grey stone gateway that marked the entrance to San Francisco's Chinatown. They were rather round and solid, looking rather more like Saint Bernards than dragons. They had large rounded nostrils and round bumps on the top of their heads. They stood on three rather solid looking feet each with the fourth resting on a stone ball. The only thing that seemed even vaguely dragon-like were the sharp rows of teeth and the jutting brows over each bulbous eye.

"They don't look very dragonish to me," said Stiles skeptically. "And where do I put the dragon's eye? There are no eye sockets."

"And yet," the Duke commented, "this is called the Dragon Gate, is it not?"

Stiles nodded. "Well, I suppose I could just put the dragon's eye into one of the mouths and see what happens."

Stiles did exactly that, and, as he expected, nothing happened.

"What are you doing?" asked an unfamiliar voice. Stiles looked to the speaker. It was an older Asian man in a navy down jacket and a wool cap with ear flaps.

"Um," replied Stiles, "I was just putting this good luck stone in the dragon's mouth. I was told that's what I should do with it." Stiles congratulated himself on his quick thinking.

"Well," the man said, "you won't get any good luck that way. Those aren't dragons."

"What?" exclaimed Stiles.

"The dragons are up there," the man said, pointing to the green tiled lintel of the gateway twenty feet above. In the light of the streetlights, Stiles could see the yellow gleam of ceramic glaze on the forms of two sinuous dragons. "These are lions."

"Oh," said Stiles. "I thought it was too easy a way to get good luck."

The man laughed and walked away. Stiles was sure he heard him mutter, "Foolish tourists."

"Well," said Stiles, "are you up for a climb?"

"A rather inconvenient place to put the entrance to a portal," commented the Duke, looking up.

"It does seem unlikely," agreed Stiles, nodding. "The fountain is only a few blocks away. Why don't we try that first before we work on figuring out how to climb this thing?"

"And it looks to me that the eyes of the dragons are not hollow," said the Duke, still looking up.

"Good to know," responded Stiles. "Come on. This way."

They walked down the mostly deserted street and then turned west on Post Street. It was only a block, and before long they were at the stairway leading up to the Grand Hyatt Hotel. The fountain was embedded in the curving tiers of brick stairs leading up to the hotel entrance. Here there were more people, but no one paid any attention to Stiles and the Duke as they walked around the fountain.

"Here," said Stiles. "Here's the dragon." A remarkably detailed dragon undulated its way around a section of the cylindrical fountain amidst scenes of San Francisco life. The only problem was that the dragon was only about two feet long, and its eye socket, a concavity in the bronze, was less than a quarter inch in diameter. The socket was too small.

Stiles sat down on the steps and took out his phone. He needed to revisit his search. The Duke sat next to him, only vaguely remarking the device in Stiles' hand.

"Perhaps we need to think on this," said the Duke.

"We've got less than two days to do this," grumbled Stiles. "Remember. You're the one who gave the order to start cutting my friends into little pieces if we don't get back in time."

The Duke seemed unconcerned. "I do not find that it is very conducive to thinking when one is over tired. We should go back to your apartment and rest. Perhaps the dragon under the Golden Mountain will speak to you while we sleep."

Stiles paused. He was indeed tired, and, if he were honest with himself, he wasn't functioning at his best. His anxiety over his friends was overriding his common sense. "Fine," he said. "We'll leave Golden Mountain dragon for tomorrow. Let's head home."

\- - - - -

Stiles had to admit that he felt much more clearheaded when he awoke after a full night's sleep. He even had the presence of mind to call in sick for both himself and Scott. If they actually made it back to their world, it would be good not to have completely messed up their employability. The Duke had taken Scott's room for the night, and Stiles couldn't find it in himself to insist that the man sleep on the couch, even if he was a power-mongering bastard. They could burn the sheets later if they were both still alive. The Duke was not impressed with Stiles' bowl of cold cereal and milk, but he did seem to relish his coffee, liberally diluted with milk and two teaspoons of sugar. Stiles had assumed he would be a black coffee kind of guy, black like his soul, but there went another stereotype out the window.

Stiles went back to his search. He simplified his search to just "dragon" and "san francisco," and while this increased the results exponentially, it was a bit too much, so Stiles tried adding a few terms just to whittle things down a bit. On a whim, he entered the term "golden."

He had actually seen links to "Golden Dragon" before, but he had ignored them because they referenced a now defunct restaurant. But this time, one of the links had a photo of the owner of the restaurant posing at the entrance. Next to a column that very obviously had a dragon winding its way from the bottom to top. It was also very obvious from the scale of the dragon that the empty eye socket was big enough to accommodate the dragon's eye. Stiles clicked on the link.

The Golden Dragon had been a restaurant in Chinatown on the street level of an historic three-story brick building built immediately after the earthquake of 1906 on the slope of Washington Street. Almost thirty years ago, a gang-related shooting late one night resulted in the deaths of five restaurant patrons and the closing of the restaurant. After a suitably respectful period of time, another restaurant had made an attempt to open in the same location, but it closed its doors in less than a year. Another attempt a few years later also failed, and the location was then viewed as cursed with bad fortune. No business had opened in the location in the last twenty plus years in spite of its prime location. A while back, the decision had been made to "permanently" loan the store front to the Chinatown Historical Society for street-side displays from its collection.

A more recent image of the site on the Chinatown Historical Society web page showed a row of display windows fronting a sidewalk thronged with pedestrians. The entrance to the restaurant had obviously been either removed or covered over with another display window, and the ornate columns of the original restaurant had been taken away. Stiles had never visited this property before, but a quick check showed that it was indeed registered as an historic property with the city. And as simple as that, Stiles had an in.

He was ready to tell the Duke about his hunch, but the Duke was not in the room. Stiles recalled telling him to go ahead and search for the medallion, so he was probably rooting through all of Stiles' things. Stiles got up and walked down the hallway to the bedrooms and bathroom. He found the Duke sitting on Stiles' bed looking through a photo album.

"Find anything?" Stiles asked.

The Duke looked up at him and then turned the photo album so that Stiles could see. His finger pointed to a specific photo.

Stiles looked down. It was a picture of him and his mom in Stiles' room in Santa Rosa. Stiles was nine or ten and was seated at his desk, and his mom was leaning over his shoulder. "Yeah. That's me and my mom."

"I know who she is, Stiles. Look at what's hanging in the background," said the Duke.

Stiles looked more carefully. It was his room. He could see the edge of his bookcase, and the mobile of the solar system he had recently seen in a tangled pile hung from the ceiling in front of it. He didn't see anything unusual.

"You look, but you do not see," said the Duke when Stiles didn't respond. "Look at the mobile."

Stiles looked again. The mobile was not in sharp focus, but Stiles could see it in his mind's eye. There was Jupiter with its spot and Saturn with its ring. Mars was a fiery red, and Earth was blue and green. And there were discs of stars and the Milky Way and the Spiral Nebula. Wait. The Spiral Nebula. Now that he had seen the other two medallions, he could see it. He had always thought it was a swirl of gold stars in the sky. But now that he considered it, it could well be a dragon coiled in a spiral, just like the other medallions. He looked again at the photo, and there it was, hanging just behind his mother's shoulder. It was so obvious now that he was looking for it. The third medallion. Hanging innocently all those years in his childhood home.

\- - - - -

Stiles really did not want the Duke to meet his father, so he checked with the station to be sure his father was on duty before driving the two of them up to Santa Rosa. It was an uneventful drive, and they were in and out of the house in less than five minutes. Stiles pulled the mess of a mobile from its box and unhooked the medallion. The Duke gave Stiles one of his horrifying smiles and took the medallion and put it away. Unlike in the other world, the medallion did not return to Stiles. Stiles' last thought as he locked up the house was that, if he was lucky, no one would tell his dad he had come and gone. They were back in San Francisco by mid-afternoon.

On the drive back and forth, Stiles told the Duke about his hunch about the Golden Dragon Restaurant. The Duke was skeptical, but he had no other ideas, and he was in a relatively good mood at having the third medallion in his possession. Stiles tried not to imagine what the Duke might be able to accomplish now that all three medallions were in his grasp. After returning to the city, they swung by the Building Inspection Office, and Stiles checked out the keys to the building where the restaurant used to reside. No one seemed to question the fact that he had just called in sick that very morning.

They drove back to Stiles' apartment to leave the car. If they indeed found the portal, the last thing he wanted to do was rack up an exorbitant parking fee at the Portsmouth Garage in Chinatown while he was gone. Of course, if he was killed, the fee would be someone else's responsibility.

The Duke, normally a frighteningly calm eye in the center of the shit storm he created around himself, was actually buzzing with excitement. While there were moments when Stiles got a bit caught up in his research, he rarely forgot that the Duke was a dangerous man. They were just about ready to set out when Stiles realized he was threatening in other ways as well.

The Duke was sitting on the couch when Stiles came out of the bathroom. His father had always emphasized the need to go when one could. At Stiles' approach, the Duke got up. Stiles grabbed his backpack off the floor, but when he moved towards the door, the Duke was blocking his way. Stiles couldn't identify the look in the Duke's eyes, but he was definitely feeling uncomfortable.

"You are a very resourceful young man, Stiles," the Duke began. He raised his arms and placed his hands on Stiles' shoulders. Stiles felt very much like he was being held in place. "And there is no denying your special abilities as a portaljack."

Stiles gulped. This couldn't be going where he thought it was going.

"An Alpha is made more powerful with the careful selection of a mate. When I've disposed of the Hale pack, you would do well to ally yourself with me."

Stiles looked at the Duke incredulously. The man seriously thought he would be part of his pack? And the term mate sounded particularly ominous.

"It could be a very comfortable life, Stiles. I'm a very powerful man, not to mention werewolf, and now that I have the three medallions, I will be even more powerful. As my mate, you would command the respect of everyone around me."

"What makes you think I would want to have anything to do with you once we get back to your world?" Stiles said with a studied calm that he hoped hid how angry he was.

The Duke eyed him and then ran a finger along Stiles' jawline. Stiles felt as if he was slicing into his skin as the finger traced the ridge.

He must have grimaced. "Stiles," said the Duke, his finger now pressed to Stiles' chin. "You can choose to be my mate, or..." At this, the Duke grabbed Stiles' chin and held it tightly as he leaned in. For a second, Stiles thought he was going to try and kiss him, and he gulped again. But the Duke held his lips just a fraction away from Stiles' as he continued, "I can also simply force you. It doesn't really require your cooperation although it might not be as painful for you if you gave it up willingly."

Stiles was breathing hard, and he had to close his eyes to escape the piercing gaze. Abruptly, the Duke pulled his fingers away, jerking Stiles' head to the side.

"I think it's time to go," said the Duke as he moved to the front door. "Don't you?"

Stiles stared bleakly at his back and followed.

\- - - - -

There was silence between them as they rode BART downtown. They walked up from the Powell Street Station, passing the Grand Hyatt and the Asawa fountain. They continued through the malodorous Stockton Street tunnel and emerged on the other side in the heart Chinatown. Three short blocks past restaurants, markets, and gift shops brought them to Washington Street. They turned right and had barely walked a hundred feet downhill when they were there.

The display windows showed photographs of the life of Chinese immigrants during the Gold Rush. There were explanatory placards under the photos, but Stiles ignored them. He led the way to the narrow doorway to the left. He opened the doorway with the second key on the chain, and they entered a minuscule landing at the foot of a narrow staircase leading to the upper floors. There were sounds of family life coming from above. Clearly, while the restaurant space brought bad fortune, the demands for housing in Chinatown did not scare away people who needed a place to live.

"Apartments upstairs," said Stiles stupidly, still disturbed by the Duke's advances a short time earlier. "If there's anything from the old restaurant, it'll be inside the restaurant space." There was no door to the restaurant in the landing. "Let's look for another entrance outside."

There was no visible entrance to the restaurant on Washington Street aside from what was now covered up by the display windows, so Stiles led the Duke around the corner. As he expected in this neighborhood of alleys, there was a narrow alleyway next to the corner building. They entered the dark passage, and less than 100 feet in, there were two doors into the building on Washington Street. One was level with the alley, and one was down a recessed stairway of four steps. Stiles decided to try the street-level entrance first.

The entrance led directly into an uninspiring restaurant space. They crossed through a narrow kitchen. The stove was dark and covered with an uneven layer of emulsified cooking oil. An empty refrigerator stood with the door propped open, the steel interior mottled with who knows what. There were stainless steel counters, scratched and dull from heavy usage. Rubber floor mats lay buckled on the floor.

Clearly the bad fortune was imputed not only to the location but to the furnishings. The dining area was filled with beige Formica-veneered tables, round and square and totally serviceable. Red vinyl covered the seats of wooden chairs still tucked around each table. There was a wooden counter in front of an empty glass-fronted refrigerator case. A stack of corner-curled take-out menus lay on the counter. Light came in through gaps in the wooden backing of the displays, enough to illuminate the heavy coating of dust on everything, including the colorless linoleum floor.

There was nothing here to suggest this had once been a successful restaurant named the Golden Dragon. Hopefully, the other door would lead to something more promising.

They exited the restaurant at the back and then went down the short flight of stairs. The lock was stiff, probably from lack of use. That might be a good sign.

With some finagling, Stiles got the lock to turn, and he stepped into the below-street space. He pulled a chain hanging by the door, and a very low-wattage bulb came on. This space was filled with stuff from wall to wall with only a narrow passage from the door to the wall opposite. There were wooden tables, wooden chairs stacked on the tables, and stacks of vinyl menu covers on the chairs. There were boxes of folded cloth, maybe tablecloths. There were empty plastic boxes of the type that used to be used for delivering bottles of milk, empty wooden crates that once held vegetables and fruit, paper-wrapped bundles that were probably paper napkins.

Stiles picked up one of the vinyl menu covers expecting to see "Golden Dragon." Instead, the cover extolled the "Ruby Garden," the restaurant that had replaced the Golden Dragon.

Stiles pulled out a flashlight from his back pack and turned it on. He noticed the brief moment of interest on the Duke's face, but Stiles resisted the impulse to jam the flashlight into the man's face. He shone the flashlight beam to the walls behind the stacked furniture instead.

There were framed pictures with broken glass, a broom, and scattered on the ground what looked like give-away calendars. He turned to the opposite wall. The light bounced back at him, and this was not the reflection of glass. He leaned down to look through the forest of table and chair legs. It was a large piece of plastic with foot-tall letters. Stiles could make out the letters "den Dr." Stiles felt a flash of excitement. This might be it.

Stiles held up the dragon's eye, but there was no reaction. He really didn't expect one, but he had to check. He put the stone back in his pocket.

"Help me move this furniture away," indicated Stiles. The Duke came forward to assist.

They ended up tossing chairs to the other side of the room and heaving tables end over end to follow them. Before long, they had cleared enough furniture away to confirm that this was, indeed, the plastic sign that used to hang above the entrance to the Golden Dragon Restaurant. The plastic was broken in two pieces, both of which were leaning against the wall.

"Let's move the signs, too," said Stiles. He had a feeling.

It was more awkward to lift the signs up from the floor since some furniture still obstructed access to the ends of the long sign, but when they did, Stiles found what he had hoped, what he had almost been sure had to be, would be there. Lying on the floor were two long unevenly surfaced cylindrical columns. When Stiles aimed his beam on them, it became very clear that the columns were actually ceramic cylinders, stacked and mortared, one above the other. Together, they formed the shape of a dragon coiling itself down the length of each column.

Stiles lifted the end of one column and rotated it so that he could see the head of the dragon. The body led to a claw, which led to a scaled neck. With a start, Stiles turned the column further to find only unglazed clay. The head of the dragon had been broken off, and the stump of unglazed clay was all that remained.

Stiles looked over at the Duke, who remained silent. Stiles could hear the sounds of traffic from the alley doorway.

"Help me with this second column."

The Duke helped Stiles lift the second column off the floor and stand it on end. Stiles rotated the column, afraid of what he would see. There were chips in the scales, and one of the dragon's claws was gone. This column looked even more damaged than the first. A final turn and Stiles was facing a snarling dragon. Or at least part of one. There were some sharp teeth and the hint of a whisker. Most of the details of the face had been broken off.

Stiles could see why this portal was not working. The damage was pretty serious. He shone his flashlight down the length of the column, and he caught flashes of reflected light on the floor. He moved the beam to the floor. There were broken pieces of ceramic scattered on the dirt floor. He could see shards of the glaze that covered the body of the dragons, hints of the gold accents that edged the scales on the dragons’ backs. And then Stiles saw the large lump, embedded in the floor. This was unglazed clay, a piece of significant size.

He leaned the column towards the Duke, and the Duke took it without speaking. Stiles squatted down on the ground. He grasped the piece of clay and pulled it free of the dirt. It felt right, but he paused, nervous that it wasn't. He turned it over. With an exhalation of breath, he looked at the head of a dragon, its two eye sockets looking at him in the dim light.

\- - - - -

One thing he hadn't brought with him was glue, but that was quickly remedied. They found some at a hardware store down the block. They cleaned off the unglazed surfaces with water from a bottle and one of what turned out to be cloth napkins. When it was dry, they glued the head back on the first cylinder, rested it on the floor, and waited the prescribed two minutes to let the glue set.

Then the moment arrived.

"Remember, Stiles," said the Duke. It was the first thing he had said in quite a while. "You can choose to come to me willingly, or you can choose to come unwillingly. I will enjoy it whichever you choose."

Stiles shuddered.

Stiles figured the column didn't actually need to be upright, and since they were going into the other world, he didn't want it to fall over while they were gone and risk dislodging the head again. He had the Duke help him to lift it to rest on its side next to the wall, and he retrieved the pieces of plastic signage to cover it up again, placing them to the side for now. He pulled the stone from his pocket, looked at it for a moment, probably said a prayer of some type, and placed the stone in the eye socket.

The portal flared into life, an oval of dusk appearing in the small room. The Duke helped Stiles to lean the plastic against the wall, concealing the repaired column. For a second, Stiles thought about the building keys, but no one had used them in years it would seem. If he got in trouble, that would be the least of his worries.

The Duke gripped Stiles' hand in his own, clearly not trusting Stiles to refrain from running or closing the portal. As if he was going to try something now. Stiles made a silent eye roll and walked through.

They came out on a grassy hillside in the city of Hishman. In the near distance, Stiles could see at least three other nearby hills of similar size. The one nearest the Bay was probably a counterpart to Telegraph Hill minus the iconic fire-nozzle shaped tower. While the cityscape in front of him lacked the skyscrapers of San Francisco, it was very clear this was a large city. There were gas jets illuminated everywhere, a double line of them crossing the city in this version of Market Street. There was noise, too - the sound of horse-drawn trams with metal wheels rubbing along metal tracks; the clanging of bells reminiscent of the cable cars at home; voices that rose into the night air, sounds of sellers and laughter and conversation.

They walked down the gentle slope - this was a park more than a mountain, more similar to the portal in Macon than the one on the Blessed Mountain in Calatu. They actually passed a couple out for a stroll, and the couple started to find that they were not alone on the hill.

Suddenly, the Duke grabbed Stiles' hand. Stiles looked at him in surprise, and he was confronted with white sockets. He had forgotten that the Duke was without sight in this world. But then again, he was a werewolf. The Duke felt along the fingers of Stiles' hand, and Stiles realized that he now wore a third ring on that hand. He held it up in the feeble dusk light, and he could see it was lighter in color than the other two, a golden yellow if he had to guess. The Duke grunted and let his hand go.

"How do we get back to Beacon Hills?" Stiles asked.

"Ferry to Larksong. Then horses back to Beacon Hills." The Duke picked up his pace heading down the hill. Stiles stumbled into a semi-run to keep up. They were soon on a path that followed the curve of the base of the hill, and then Stiles could see a railed fence running parallel to the path, and the rails were topped by blunt points. The fence rose into a swirl of interconnected circles of metal that capped an open gate. They walked through and onto the city streets.

The Duke had put his obsidian spectacles back on, and in some ways Stiles was relieved. He looked too human in Stiles' world, and he found it right that he had reassumed the appearance of something evil and dangerous. Things should look the way they really are. Within two blocks, they acquired shadows, two darkly dressed men who were more or less interchangeable with the other agents of the Duke that Stiles had encountered before. They followed closely behind as they walked down sidewalks of herringboned brick.

\- - - - -

The Duke had one of his men buy some food while the other negotiated the passage from Hishman. They ended up on a medium sized boat driven by a steam engine. There was clearly room for a few horses in addition to passengers, but for this trip, the four of them (not including the boat captain) had the boat to themselves. The steam engine provided the drive through the choppy waves of the waters that came into the Bay. They made a wide arc out towards the barren piece of rock jutting out from the Bay, which in Stiles' world would be the site of Alcatraz prison. Then they cut back towards what Stiles thought of as Marin County and this world's town of Larksong. It took around 45 minutes to make the crossing, and during that time, Stiles surprised himself with the appetite to consume half of a roast chicken, a paper cone filled with fried potatoes, and an apple. He washed it down with a bottle of quite good beer, and he thought ironically that this would have been a very enjoyable meal and trip under different circumstances.

Larksong was a tiny town, more or less a collection of buildings surrounding the docks in this sheltered cove of the Bay. There were provisioners, two restaurants, a hostelry, a stable and blacksmith, and a small pigeon terminal. The streets here were dirt, and the sidewalks, such as they were, were boardwalks in front of the buildings.

The Duke's men arranged for the horses, and they set off. A glance inside the hostelry showed that it was past eight o'clock. There didn't seem to be any hurry, and they maintained a steady but decidedly unrushed pace. An hour later, they passed through the larger town of Tamalpais, and Stiles could feel himself start to drift from exhaustion both physical and emotional. Almost another hour later, they arrived in the slightly smaller town of Toloma. Stiles had basically fallen asleep in the saddle between Toloma and Petaluma. To Stiles' surprise, the Duke had them stop at an inn in Petaluma.

"We have a big day ahead of us," he said wryly to Stiles. "We need to be ready and rested."

Stiles spent a fitful night in his bed with one of the Duke's men seated in an armchair doing guard duty.


	12. The Ultimate Portal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More typical Teen Wolf-style violence. Well, perhaps it's a bit grosser than that.

Stiles had to believe it was a hitherto unknown penchant for the dramatic on the part of the Duke. Otherwise, why would they wait until almost sunset to ride back to the abandoned factory. Now, as they approached, the uneven brick-walled shell of the factory was cast in the half-light/half-dark of dusk, silhouetted trees in the background, and flickering light illuminating the broken-out windows from within. 

Stiles had spent a very restless night the night before, so he hadn't been totally ungrateful for an indolent day. His waking moments bled seamlessly into his half-dreams, and he would find himself startling awake when he thought a deformed being with multiple arms and legs was edging its way through the window of his room. His minders during the day were switched out at regular intervals, and Stiles remained essentially in bed for most of the day. Meals were delivered, but otherwise, Stiles had nothing to do. He lay in bed, his half-awakedness an extension of how he had spent the night, wondering what would be waiting when they returned to Beacon Hills. At least D'Eric would still be alive. The Duke needed him for something. But the thought of what sat uneasily in Stiles' thoughts.

The Duke and Stiles set out late in the afternoon, leaving the minders behind, and now as they approached the abandoned factory, Stiles was relieved to see that the stone-paved area in front of the factory was empty, although he thought he could see a hole in the stone where D'Eric had been impaled. Stiles abruptly recalled the Duke's comments before they departed that one of his friends was dying, and Stiles was suddenly overcome with shame that he had not given this any thought in the last two days. He had not had a clear view of the wolves before he had been taken away, so he had no idea which of them might now be dead.

As they drew up to the barn doors of the factory, the metallic scrape of horse shoes on stone loud in the otherwise silence of evening, the barn doors drew open.

"Where are the twins?" asked E'Nis, stepping close as the Duke dismounted. He passed the reins to one of the two human agents standing by.

"They did not make the transition successfully through the portal into the other world," said the Duke. "But we have the third medallion. The portal of ultimate power is at hand."

Stiles took advantage of his vantage point on horseback to look over the cavernous space before someone forced him to dismount. The wolves of the pack were securely held in check behind a thick line of mountain ash to one side of the entrance. Stiles caught the eyes of each of the pack in succession, and he made check marks next to a mental attendance chart. There was no sign of D'Ani and Scott, which could be good or bad. There was also no sign of E’Rica or P'Eter, which Stiles could only assume was bad. K'Aura, Boyd, K'Ira, and Y’Sac looked healed and furious.

About twenty feet away from the wolves was the source of the flickering light, torches that illuminated a disturbing sight. D'Eric was chained to a metal grill set into a platform a few feet above the dirt floor, face down, shirtless, his arms and legs pulled into a rough cross, dark iron cuffs and chains holding his limbs stretched to the four corners of the platform. Stiles noted with relief that there was no sign of where he had been impaled with the Duke's cane, but this relief was tempered by the realization that some type of magic had to be keeping the werewolf under control. D'Eric's eyes met Stiles', and Stiles didn't know how to read them. There was anger - hard to miss even from this distance - but there were other things mixed in, pain, undoubtedly, but something sadder. D'Eric's lips were parched, but he parted them as if to try to say something to Stiles.

Suddenly, Stiles was yanked from his saddle by a clawed hand wrapped around his forearm. It was K'Ali.

"Thank you, K'Ali," said the Duke. "Please bring him over."

The Duke moved next to where D'Eric lay chained. As Stiles was pulled closer, he could see a faint purple aura to the coarse metal of the cuffs around D'Eric's wrists and ankles. Wolfsbane undoubtedly impregnated or at the very least coated the metal to make doubly sure the Alpha werewolf was contained.

It was oppressively silent to Stiles. K'Ali pushed him in front of her, her clawed hands firmly on his shoulders. While it was unlikely she would kill him if he tried to break free, there were plenty of disabling things she could do to him to keep him from escaping. Stiles obediently allowed himself to be shoved forward.

"The medallions, please," said the Duke, holding out his hand to Stiles.

One by one, Stiles removed the rings from his left hand, still unclear as to what the Duke was going to do with them. He dropped them in the Duke's hand. Whatever he was going to do, he was going to do, and Stiles was in no position to stop him. Stiles turned his attention to D'Eric instead.

D'Eric was looking at him, his greenish hazel eyes meeting his, and it was suddenly all too clear to Stiles what D'Eric was feeling.

"Don't," whispered Stiles, knowing D'Eric would be able to hear him. "It's not ending how we would have hoped. But we tried - that's what's important."

"I'm sorry," D'Eric mouthed.

Stiles shook his head. "Nope. You don't get to be. You didn't do this."

"I'm afraid I must interrupt your grand passionate farewell," smiled the Duke, the three medallions resting in his open palm, "but there are more important things to attend to." He moved to one side of D'Eric and picked up the yellow medallion and placed it on one of the spirals of the triskelion tattooed on D'Eric's back.

To Stiles' eyes, it looked just like butter melting in a skillet - the medallion seemed to dissolve into D'Eric's flesh and the one spiral of the triskelion took on a golden hue. Stiles looked at D'Eric's face, and once again it was unreadable. Stiles wouldn't say that it looked like D'Eric was in pain, but he was clearly experiencing a disorienting sensation. There were twitches to the muscles of his face, and when he did open his eyes, they were unfocused.

The Duke placed the blue medallion on a second spiral, and like the first, the medallion melted into the tattoo, casting a blue tinge to the spiral. D'Eric had tightly closed his eyes now, and Stiles could only imagine what he was experiencing. He whispered D'Eric's name under his breath, not knowing what to do.

Stiles didn't know what to expect when the Duke placed the final medallion on the triskelion, the red medallion, but it was obvious that the result was not what the Duke expected. The three spirals glowed faintly, one red, one blue, one gold. It appeared as if the muscles of D'Eric's back were rippling along with the energy flowing through the spirals. D'Eric was now moaning and straining feebly against his chains. But that was it. There was no cataclysmic event. No rip in the cosmos.

Maybe, Stiles thought for a second, the Duke had gotten it wrong. The medallions wouldn't work, and he wouldn't gain this ultimate power. But then the Duke turned his attention from D'Eric to Stiles.

"It's you, Stiles," said the Duke calmly as he rose back to his feet. "There is so much power in you. You are the portaljack. It's clear you must open the portal for me."

Stiles gulped. "No," he feebly replied, wishing he could have thrown the word in the Duke's face more forcefully. Stiles felt K'Ali's claws dig more firmly into his shoulders, and he realized he had unconsciously started to try and back away. Undoubtedly there was now blood.

"Yes," said the Duke, "you will." The Duke removed his dark glasses and turned his milky white eyes to Stiles. He stepped closer, and Stiles thought he could see wraiths moving within his sightless eyes. He was scared, but he knew that if he did not take a stand now, all would be lost.

"No," Stiles said with more conviction. "You can kill me, but you won't make me open the portal for you."

The Duke stood in front of Stiles, his front nearly pressed into Stiles’, and ran a finger along Stiles' jaw. "You know I don't want to do that, Stiles. You know what I want to do with you." Stiles shuddered. "But I know what motivates you, and you will do what I ask."

"I don't think so," Stiles stammered.

The Duke laughed quietly, and Stiles could feel the puffs of exhalation from his laughter, poisoning his breath. "I know you care for D'Eric, Stiles. You care for him a lot."

Stiles tried to put on a blank face, a wall to stop the Duke from entering a space in his head he had no right to access.

"You can't hide it, Stiles. Well, you have a choice, Stiles. You can do what I want, or I will do the worst thing possible to D'Eric. It will be your choice."

"Some choice. Well, here's yours. You can kill us both. D'Eric wouldn't want you to have this," said Stiles defiantly, looking squarely into those blank eyes.

"I could, but I won't. I will do much worse."

Stiles wanted to make a retort, but his throat went dry.

"Sadly, Stiles, I will kill you if you don't open that portal for me. And then, I will kill all of D'Eric's pack - one by one - before his eyes. He will see each of them die, painfully, dying for him. And then, I will do the worse thing of all - I will leave him alive, to live with the knowledge that he is the reason all of you died. Alive and alone."

And Stiles could imagine it. Could imagine D'Eric lost and devastated from losing his pack yet again. The grief and the self-doubt and the loneliness. D'Eric was a werewolf, and he had strength of body and character. But the Duke would destroy him in mind and leave him to suffer.

Stiles couldn't do that D'Eric. In a heartbeat, he had made a decision. If this portal killed D'Eric, that would be something Stiles would have to live with. If this portal gave the Duke an ultimate power which ended up enslaving all of them, Stiles would deal. What he wouldn't do, couldn't do, was leave D'Eric alone.

Stiles took a deep breath and knelt near D'Eric's head, leaving K'Ali's grasp. D'Eric's breathing was heavy and irregular, and his eyes remained closed. Stiles had no idea if D'Eric could even hear him at this point, whether his senses even worked beyond the magic swirling in the triskelion. All the same, Stiles whispered to D'Eric, "I'm not even sure if this is what I should do. I'm sorry if it isn't. But I promise you. I will NEVER leave you alone."

Stiles took off the dragon's eye ring and held it up before his eyes. Stiles focused on the ring, not wanting to see the Duke's expression. He was doing this for D'Eric.

Suddenly, there was a snarl, and Stiles turned. E'Nis and K'Ali both ran into the darkness just beyond. There was a pained cry that Stiles immediately recognized as Scott's voice.

"Scott?" he shouted, standing. He tried to see into the darkness beyond, but all he heard was scuffling.

The Duke had drawn close to Stiles and now held him fast by one arm. The Duke was trembling, but Stiles didn't care to know the reason. It had sounded like Scott.

"Look what we found!" exclaimed K'Ali gleefully, walking out of the shadows holding D'Ani by the neck, propelling him forward. "I thought we had gotten rid of both of them."

Stiles silently mouthed D'Ani's name. Had they been trying to free the wolves?

E'Nis followed shortly thereafter with Scott. E'Nis had a strong grip on Scott's shoulder, and there was a bloody gash down the other arm. "Surprise," said E'Nis. "A baby wolf."

Scott turned to snarl at E'Nis, but E'Nis backhanded Scott as he released him, and Scott's body flew across the space, crashing into the mountain ash barrier that contained the others. Scott lay stunned on the ground, and Stiles’ instinct was to run to his best friend.

"Contain him," said the Duke, and one of the two human agents quickly came forward to lay a line of mountain ash around Scott's still immobilized form.

Stiles was worried about Scott, but he reminded himself that Scott was a werewolf now. If Stiles had to decide which of the two of them could better take care of themselves, at this point he would go with Scott. D'Ani on the other hand...

K'Ali pushed D'Ani within range of the Duke's grasp. The Duke let go of Stiles' arm and wrapped an arm around D'Ani's neck. D'Ani was gasping for breath from K'Ali's rough treatment. Stiles could only stare. There were no words.

"Create the portal, Stiles," hissed the Duke over D'Ani's shoulder. "If D'Eric's fate isn't enough incentive for you, I can slowly detach this one's limbs one by one. And you can watch." At that, the Duke's index finger grew a claw, and with the lightest of touches on D'Ani's neck, he drew a line that soon beaded up with red droplets.

Stiles turned away. There were no good choices. They were all going to die anyway. He held up the dragon's eye once again, and this time he focused his energies on the ring. The air above D'Eric's shoulder blades began to shimmer. Stiles couldn't help but notice how D'Eric shuddered at the creation of the portal, but there was nothing Stiles could do for D'Eric now. He continued to focus his energy on the portal, and it was as if the portal leached the spirals of power from D'Eric's back. Streams of yellow, red, and blue came off of D'Eric's back like ribbons of silk unspooling into the air. They continued their airborne dance momentarily before merging with the energies around the edge of the portal, causing the portal to grow and glow more brightly.

Stiles could feel the pull of the portal. It was unlike any other portal he had opened or traversed. There was power in this portal, power that had a hunger and a weight. This was a power that consumed, a power greater than any Stiles had ever felt before. There were no more individual colors now - the streams of color had merged into a brilliant white, and the edges of the portal pulsed and blurred.

The Duke stepped forward and then up on the platform on which D'Eric was chained, yanking D'Ani's stumbling form up after him and then pulling him close with the one arm crushing his throat. The portal throbbed with power and light, and the Duke took one step closer to it, D'Ani barely able to stand at his side. Stiles could see the fear in D'Ani's eyes, and he had to look away. The Duke paused and looked at the portal just in front of him with, perhaps, a note of reverence. "I can see why your parents wanted to keep this out of my hands," said the Duke, ostensibly to D'Eric but more so to himself. "It calls to me. It tells me of the power that will soon be mine."

The Duke blinked. With an abrupt movement, he threw D'Ani away from him, and D'Ani stumbled over the edge of the platform and crashed to the ground with a cry. The Duke seemed to stumble himself for a second, but then he reached forward with one arm.

Stiles would never be quite clear what he saw next. It was as if it all happened in slow motion and yet all at once. It was as if the Duke's outstretched arm became elastic, a piece of taffy being pulled into strands and then into the portal and beyond. The tension on his arm pulled him forward, and now it was his shoulder that was unraveling into strands that were irresistibly pulled into the portal. Perhaps the Duke now raised a hand to try and stop his momentum, but it didn't work. The second raised hand was rent asunder into streaks of paleness. The Duke opened his mouth to scream, but before a sound could emerge, his face erupted in an explosion of brilliant motes, stars falling into the portal as if drawn into a black hole. The motes scattered as they were sucked into the portal. And then, the Duke was gone. The portal pulsed a single time as if sated and then faded out of existence. It was as if neither the Duke nor the portal had ever existed.

Stiles was snapped out of wherever his mind had gone by the harsh sound of P'Eter's voice. "Stiles. Break the mountain ash. Free the pack."

Stiles shook his head to clear it. D'Ani was collapsed on the ground nearby, trembling violently. E'Nis and K'Ali were momentarily stunned by the loss of their Alpha. Stiles turned away from D'Eric and where the portal had been and got his legs to move him towards the magically contained wolves. One of the human agents made an aborted attempt to intercept him, but Stiles ducked and kept moving, his mind coming back online and gaining momentum. The second agent was coming in from the side, and he had a good chance of stopping Stiles if he slowed. There was no time to be elegant about this.

Stiles took a flying leap and threw his body forward towards the wolves, and when he hit the ground, he forced himself to roll on his shoulder to keep his momentum. When he hit solid bodies, he flailed wildly, moving his arms and legs as erratically as possible. It did the trick. His gyrations had broken the solid line of mountain ash, and the pack surged forward on a roar. Stiles sat up, his shoulder sore but undamaged. He swiveled to make sure the wolves had been freed, and then he turned to remove the mountain ash barrier around Scott. Scott gave him a hand up, and together they turned to face the other wolves.

E'Nis and K'Ali were stronger than any one of them, but it was clear that cut off from their Alpha, they were now cut off from their main source of strength and power, not to mention their magical link to one another. Boyd surged forward and grabbed K'Ali from behind as Y’Sac distracted her from the front. It was doubtful that Boyd would have been able to hold K'Ali for long, but Y’Sac did not hesitate, and with a vicious swipe of his claws, Y’Sac tore her open from neck to crotch. Not just once but again and again, until K'Ali was an empty husk, shredded viscera puddled at her feet.

"Heal from that, fucker," screamed Y’Sac with a final slash across her already silenced throat.

K'Ira’s kitsune form was keeping E'Nis penned in with foxfire, and P'Eter stood just beyond, pacing, his snout and claws distended. With a cry, K'Ira lowered the fiery barrier, and P'Eter shot forward, claws at the fore. The force behind his attack nearly drove his entire hand into E'Nis's sternum. E'Nis cried out, but he raised his arms and smashed them across P'Eter's neck, forcing the wolf into the ground with a grunt. E'Nis raised his clawed hands and prepared to rip open P'Eter's skull, but suddenly, E’Nis stopped with his hand raised in the air, his throat blossoming red. 

With a snarl, K'Aura sliced her claws through his neck once again, nearly severing E’Nis’ head from the rest of his body. With a final cry of satisfaction, K’Aura pulled back, her claws bloody. P’Eter managed to turn aside to avoid being buried under E'Nis' lifeless body as it crumpled to the ground.

Stiles was hyperventilating, and Scott was rubbing reassuring circles on his back. Just like that, it was over. The Duke's pack had been destroyed, shredded, decimated. Their remains were spread in bloody splendor across the floor. The two human agents had vanished into the darkness.

Stiles looked through the carnage. There was a moment of exultation at the defeat of their enemies, but then the reality of seeing D'Eric's still form on the platform brought Stiles back to the present. Stiles left Scott behind and ran stumbling through the carnage, slipping more than once, his hand landing in the blood and slick that covered the floor to regain his balance. His eyes remained fixed on D'Eric, who did not move.

"No," Stiles whispered in dread as he drew close. "No." He let himself fall to the ground beside D'Eric's head. He reached forward and let his fingertips graze D'Eric's cheek, not caring that they left red trails. There was no reaction. "Please, D'Eric," Stiles pleaded, his words already dissolving in tears. Stiles climbed on the platform. He couldn't see how to release the cuffs that bound D'Eric, so Stiles lay down beside him, his face resting on his bloody hand, a hairsbreadth away from D'Eric's own face, still and turned towards him. He cupped D'Eric's cheek in his other hand. D'Eric was still warm, but there was no sign of breath. Stiles moved his hand to D'Eric's neck, and he rested a finger on his artery. There was no pulse. Nothing.

Stiles closed his eyes and sobbed. He still had no idea how they had defeated the Duke, and even though he knew it was important that they had, he didn't really care right now. He had lost D'Eric. Stiles took in a gulp of air, finding it hard to breathe. At least he had kept his promise. D'Eric had not had to be alone again.

"Stiles." Stiles opened his eyes at his name. It was P'Eter, who had a hand on his shoulder.

"What?" he mumbled. He looked at D'Eric's face, so peaceful now.

"D'Eric isn't dead."

At that, Stiles scrambled up and turned to the older man. "What do you mean? He's not breathing - and there's no pulse."

"But K'Aura has not become the Alpha," P'Eter said gently.

Stiles looked towards the other wolves who were standing nearby. "What?"

P'Eter put a hand on Stiles' shoulder. "If D'Eric were dead, K'Aura would be assuming the power of the Alpha. But she isn't. That means that D'Eric is not yet dead."

"I don't understand," pleaded Stiles, wanting to believe P'Eter, but convinced this could only be a horrible misstatement. "Is D'Eric alive? Is this a werewolf thing?"

P'Eter shook his head. "He isn't really alive either. He's in that space between life and death."

Stiles nodded as if he understood but not really understanding. He looked at the nearly lifeless form of the man he loved. What difference did it make anyway?

"You know where he is, Stiles," continued P'Eter. "You've been there. Who knows how long he will remain there? Maybe he'll be gone in a few minutes. Maybe he'll be there for hours."

As P'Eter spoke, what he was actually saying started to come together in a meaningful form in his mind. "The Land Before Death," breathed Stiles. "I have to find him."

Stiles jumped up. He could do this. He needed to do this, even if... He would deal with that should he fail. But he had no intention of failing. "When's the next train to Macon? If we can get down to Porter, it's only a few hours to Macon."

"I'm afraid the last train to Macon for the day leaves in less than an hour. Even a horse relay will not get you to Porter in time," said P'Eter with regret.

"Then we'll have to go another way," said Stiles firmly, eyes darting around the empty factory in search of alternatives.

"It's almost a hundred miles from here to Macon," Boyd pointed out. "But with a good horse relay, you can do it in a little over four hours."

Stiles nodded, even though the thought of four hours of hard riding already had his legs tensing up. "Then that's how we'll have to go."

"And I'm coming with you," stated Scott simply, as if that was always how it had to be. He came up next to Stiles and put an arm around his shoulder.

"I'll head to the pigeon terminal to line up the relay horses along the route," said Y’Sac, already heading out the factory door.

"We'll take care of D'Eric and D'Ani," said K'aura, who was helping a still stunned-looking D'Ani into a sitting position.

"We will be waiting," said P'Eter grimly, but not without a hint of a smile of hope.

Stiles nodded. There was nothing more to be said. He and Scott headed out to the town and the stables.


	13. The Land Before Death - Again

The ride up to Macon was hard. Stiles' could feel his thighs burning before they had even reached Porter, and the fire did not let up for the entire ride. His only relief was the brief moment when they exchanged horses, and he could stretch his legs and allow some of the tension of gripping the saddle beneath him to dissipate. Scott, the lucky bastard, was clearly not suffering similarly thanks to his nascent werewolf physiology. The rush of the air as they galloped east precluded any conversation, so Stiles just rode and focused on getting to Macon and trying to find D'Eric.

Porter to Gypsy. Huksey to Stoner. To Ashley. Every ten miles or so, they changed horses. And every time they paused, Stiles looked at Scott, afraid to ask but needing to know.

"I can still feel him, Stiles," Scott reassured him. "He's still my Alpha."

They arrived in Macon sometime before midnight. It was a clear night, and the Sacred Mountain loomed large above them in spite of its true size. They skirted the museum and left the exhausted horses to graze on park grass as they hurried up the path to the mountain summit. It was clear and cold, and their breath clouded before them as they moved at a walk-run. Stiles' breathing became increasingly labored as they reached the top. Scott breathed calmly as if he were window shopping in the mall.

"I hate you," grumbled Stiles, bending over to heave in some needed oxygen.

Scott gave Stiles a small smile. "I could get used to this part."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "I'm sure you could. Okay. Let's move."

They covered the last stretch to the top of the mountain, and Stiles could feel the chilled currents of evening air through his thin jacket. Who cared about the temperature? There were more important things to tend to.

Stiles held up his ringed finger for the second time that night. With energy and focus, he filled his mind with the magic of the ring, and the portal opened.

Scott looked through, but as before, there was nothing to see beyond a swirling whiteness.

"You stay here, Scottie," said Stiles. Scott was clearly going to object, but Stiles explained, "The last time I did this, I nearly didn't make it out. You stand close by so that you can save the day by dragging my sorry ass out of there if I can't do it myself."

Scott nodded. "Remember. You can't stay in there for long. You need to find D'Eric and get both of you out of there." Stiles couldn't help but smile when Scott pulled him into a hug. Scott was now a werewolf, but he was still his best friend and a marshmallow at heart. "And I can still feel him, Stiles," assured Scott. "Even from here, I know D'Eric's still not dead."

Stiles shook out the tension in his shoulders. "Okay, here I go."

\- - - - -

The feeling was just as disturbing as the first time - the total absence of warmth and the near immediate leeching of body heat into an empty vacuum. Stiles stood there, just in front of the portal inside the Land Before Death. After his last experience in the Land Before Death, he realized that moving around made no difference here. He would do just as well standing still and seeing if he could muster the focus to draw D'Eric to him.

Looking through the greyness, Stiles realized it wasn't like fog at all. It was the absence of color, of life. Like the lack of warmth, the Land Before Death lacked the energy that one associated with life. It was flat, with no promise of anything better. It seemed emptier than his last visit. The last time, the place seemed to be filled with the swirls of opaque whiteness that P'Eter said were the souls caught in this in-between world. This time, they seemed to come in ones or twos, twisting through the space just within Stiles' vision and then melting into the greyness.

All the white swirls looked alike, but one of them was D'Eric, at least Stiles hoped so. Stiles had to let off a wry laugh. In spite of their best efforts, they hadn't moved slow at all. From a kiss, they moved straight into a fight that ended in blood and death and now a race against time to save a life. They were failures at going slow. They were two men who went all in from the start. They deserved each other.

Stiles wasn't even sure what he should focus on to draw D'Eric's essence to him, but he knew that it must have to do with his connection with D'Eric, what had developed between them in spite of the lack of time and the chaos that surrounded them.

Stiles didn't even have to close his eyes. There was really nothing else to see in this place. So he just looked out into the emptiness and filled it with everything he could find of D'Eric within him.

He started with their first meeting - memorable mostly because D'Eric had stood there in front of him, naked, the power in his muscular form, the fierce look of suspicion on his face, the tension in his stance. D'Eric had looked most like a wolf then, wild and ready to strike. Even so, he had been beautiful.

Stiles remembered the anger on D'Eric's face when he thought the medallion had been lost. His eyes had flashed and his lips had drawn back in a snarl. Stiles was sure he had been ready to pee himself at the time, but in recollection, Stiles was drawn to the passion in D'Eric's face, his commitment, and even the note of desperation.

That face morphed to one he remembered of their conversations. The gentling of his features, the lift of one of his heavy brows at one of Stiles' remarks, the quirk of the corner of his mouth in an almost smile.

With a sudden stabbing pain, he remembered the pain on D'Eric's face when D'Eric had smelled D'Ani on his skin. D'Eric showed how easily shattered he was, and Stiles ached at the thought that he had wounded D'Eric, even if unintentionally.

The pain was hard, but it was mercifully eclipsed by the shy look of hope on D'Eric's face when they had talked and found a way to move forward, knowing then that they both wanted the same thing. And Stiles had to smile at the thought of D'Eric's look of surprise when Stiles had pulled him into a kiss, giving in to what he believed they both wanted.

The earlier ache was eclipsed by his recollection of D'Eric impaled in the ground, of his body held magically immobile, of the magic ripping D'Eric's being out of his body in order to power the portal. And then the stillness of D'Eric's body at the end, as good as lifeless, lost to Stiles.

D'Eric had tried so hard, and Stiles swore at the injustice of it all. D'Eric deserved to have a chance to live - to experience a life replete with the fullness of pack and love, even if that love ended up not being Stiles. He wanted D'Eric to have that life, to have the chance at that life, to simply live.

Stiles couldn't see any difference in the swirl of opaque white that was now curled around him, but he knew it was D'Eric. It had to be. The connection with the consciousness in the swirl was very faint but unmistakable.

Stiles felt a burst of joy. He was actually going to do this. He was going to pull D'Eric out of the Land Before Death and back into the land of the living. Stiles turned towards the brightness of the portal, making sure he had not dislodged the swirl, but the swirl looked to be securely wrapped around him. Stiles gave a laughing shout. "I've got him, Scottie. I've got him. We're coming out."

\- - - - -

Scottie held him up, his hands firmly braced under Stiles' arms.

"I got him," Stiles repeated, knowing that an enormous smile covered his face.

But Scott's puzzled expression pulled Stiles up short.

"What? What's wrong?" Stiles immediately looked around him. They were standing on the top of the Sacred Mountain in the middle of the night. The portal was no longer. And there was no D'Eric.

"Where's D'Eric?" Stiles cried, pulling himself free from Scott's hold. "He was wrapped around me. I know he was. He was tangled around me as I stepped back through the portal."

Scott stood there, shoulders slumped, a look of dejection on his face.

"Where is D’Eric?" Stiles cried again believing D'Eric had to answer his call.

"Nothing came out with you," said Scott softly. "You went in and came out almost immediately, but it was just you. Nothing came out of the portal except you."

Stiles panicked. Why hadn't it worked? Oh my god. It couldn't be. D'Eric couldn't have died just as Stiles was about to bring him back. "Scott," Stiles cried, "can you still feel D'Eric? Is he still alive?"

Scott looked away and focused. He turned back to look at Stiles and nodded. "I can still feel him. He's not dead."

Stiles nodded. D'Eric must have slipped free. Stiles would have to go back to try again. This time, he would figure out how to hold him securely to bring him through. Stiles held up his ringed finger.

"Stiles!" shouted Scott. "What are you doing? You're exhausted! You can't go back."

Stiles ignored Scott's shouts, and the portal opened before him. Scott's hand grabbed his shoulder as he made to step through.

"If you're going to go back through, I'm coming with you," Scott said.

Stiles nodded, thankful beyond words for his best friend's support. He knew it was crazy, but he had to try.

If anything, it was even more bone-achingly cold inside the Land Before Time. Stiles closed his eyes this time and tried to replicate his memories of D'Eric. He stepped through their meeting and their ride back to Beacon Hills, but it was hard to focus. Thoughts of Scott and his dad and even D'Ani interfered with his thoughts of D'Eric, and the more Stiles tried to focus only on D'Eric, the more his mind drifted.

"Stiles," cried out Scott in alarm.

"Wha..?" responded Stiles, jerking back into focus.

"The portal," pointed Scott. "It's gone."

Stiles swallowed hard. "I'll open it back up. Don't worry." Stiles held up his ringed hand, but as soon as he did so, he was rocked with the sureness that D'Eric was no longer in the Land Before Death. D'Eric was gone. Stiles’ legs buckled under him.

Scott's quick reflexes kept Stiles from collapsing on the ground. "Stiles! You have to open the portal. I'm losing you."

Stiles could feel the emptiness of the Land Before Death pervading his soul now that D'Eric was gone. But he needed to take care of Scott. Scott was still alive. Stiles held up his ringed hand again, and this time he cleared his mind to focus on the power of the ring.

The portal wavered into existence, and without warning, Scott grabbed Stiles by the waist and shoved them both through.

They collapsed on the hard ground, and Stiles couldn't stop himself from shivering. He wrapped his arms around himself and hid his face between his arms. He wouldn't let himself think or feel. Not yet. If he started, he would shatter.

"Stiles?" It was Scott's voice, sounding uncertain. "Where are we?"

Stiles looked up. They were no longer on the top of the Sacred Mountain. He realized he was sitting on a concrete floor in front of a roughly surfaced uneven wall. He turned his head to the left. In the shadows, he could see faint light reflected off panes of glass, store fronts. They were in a shopping mall.

Stiles blinked. He recognized this place. "We're in the downtown mall. In Sacramento." Stiles walked through here on the way to the Amtrak station every time he came up here.

"You mean we're back in our world? We're not in the other place?"

Stiles nodded. He looked up the wall. Etched into the wall like a gigantic fossil was a long sinuous body with clawed feet and a gaping mouth filled with teeth. And nestled in a depression that was the creature's eye was the dragon's eye stone.

Stiles searched the immediate area, but the portal was nowhere to be seen. He must have been too drained to maintain it, even as the stone took its accustomed place when they came through in their world. Stiles walked to the wall and removed the stone and placed it in his pocket.

"So what do we do now?" asked Scott quietly.

Stiles paused for a moment. It still wasn't the time to allow himself to fall apart. They needed to go back and inform the pack that Stiles had tried and had failed.

"We go back to Beacon Hills," said Stiles simply.

\- - - - -

The sky was already beginning to lighten, and when Stiles looked at the clock in the mall, he noted that it was already a little past five in the morning. Somehow, they had lost quite a few hours in the trips to the Land Before Death. It didn't matter. What difference did it make whether it was midnight or five in the morning? The fact was that what was done was done.

They bought tickets in the station for the 6:00am train and then stopped at the station cafe for a cup of coffee while waiting to board.

Scott fell asleep almost as soon as the train left the station, leaving Stiles to stare out of the window at the brightening day, forcing his mind to stay blank. He played a game with himself - forcing his eyes to focus straight ahead and allowing the view of the passing world blur across his vision. It was almost impossible not to refocus and start to track the vegetation or buildings along the route, but it was a good distraction. It also kept the tears that threatened at bay, caught in the tension of his unblinking eyes.

Stiles, too, must have fallen into a simulacrum of sleep because next thing he knew, Scott was nudging his shoulder. "They announced we're approaching Richmond Station."

"But the dragon's been damaged. We can't use the portal here."

Scott looked at him indulgently. "We need to transfer onto the BART here, to get back to San Francisco."

Stiles nodded stupidly. Of course.

Unlike the first train ride, the BART ride seemed interminable. Stiles eyed the system map and mentally crossed off each station as they passed through.

As they finally went through the Trans-Bay tube under the water, Scott asked, "So what do you want to do? Do you want to go back to Beacon Hills right away?"

Stiles shook his head. "I'm barely functioning. I can't face the prospect of a ferry ride and then the ride up to Beacon Hills right now. I need to sleep."

Scott merely nodded. Stiles leaned over and let his head rest on Scott's shoulder. Scott put a reassuring arm around his shoulders and pulled him in tight.

"I can't..." Stiles began. But he couldn't say the words and make it all real.

"It's okay," said Scott, leaning his cheek against the crown of Stiles' head. "It'll keep for now."

\- - - - -

Stiles could not recall the walk back to their apartment. When he awoke, it was late-afternoon, and the winter sun was already beginning to drop out of the sky. Scott was there almost immediately with a mug of tea.

"You think tea solves everything," mumbled Stiles, even as he appreciatively took hold of the steaming mug.

"It gives you something to do with your hands. The world is safer."

Stiles took a cautious sip. He had burned himself more than once in being overeager. The tea was very hot, and the searing sensation cleared the last fogginess from his mind.

"So do you feel any residual wolfiness now that you're back in this world?" asked Stiles.

Scott paused with an unfocused expression but then shook his head. "No. Feels totally normal."

Stiles nodded and took another sip of tea. "I'm afraid to go back," he finally conceded.

"You're the bravest dude I know," said Scott, lowering himself on the bed next to Stiles.

"I don't know how I can go back and tell them," Stiles said with a sigh.

"They already know," Scott said simply.

Stiles paused at that. They would know, wouldn't they? They knew the moment that D'Eric had truly died. They would have felt it in their very being, and then K'Aura would have become their Alpha, and they would have known that, too.

"We still need to go back," Stiles said finally. "If only to be there for them."

"Of course," said Scott.

Scott had left him at that point, and they agreed they would head out as soon as Stiles showered and pulled himself together. Just about twelve hours after they had returned home, they were back on the street to head downtown.

Stiles suddenly had a thought. "It's a new year, isn't it, Scottie?"

"Yeah, it is," Scott agreed.

"So far it sucks."

They walked through the off-work crowd downtown and into Chinatown. Stiles let them into the building basement and shifted the broken sign to expose the dragon column.

"I can't believe you figured it out," said Scott.

"Don't act so surprised," replied Stiles. He took the stone out of his pocket and dropped it into the eye socket, and without fail, the portal into the other world opened.

They stepped through. There was a steady wind blowing across the top of the Golden Mountain, and Hishman lay below them, twinkling and bright. Suddenly, Scott had his hand on Stiles' shoulder, tight.

"Ow," said Stiles, pulling Scott's hand off. "Remember you're superwolf here. You could easily hurt a delicate human like me."

"Stiles," said Scott, and there was excitement in his voice.

"What?" asked Stiles. Scott was nearly fizzing.

"I can feel him, and way stronger than before. It's D'Eric. He's still my Alpha."

Stiles raised his eyebrows, stunned. "That means he's still alive."

"He's still alive, Stiles. He's still alive." Scott was nodding like one of those annoying bobble-head dolls.

"But how? I don't understand." Stiles hadn't been able to bring him out of the Land Before Death. Did D'Eric just recover on his own?

"Aren't you happy, Stiles? Who cares how?" Scott was already scurrying down the slope of the mountain. "We have to get back and find out what happened."

Stiles got with the program and started running after Scott. Of course the wolfy idiot was already yards ahead. Stiles needed to remind him not to leave his very human best friend behind in the future, thank you very much. But Stiles couldn't be very annoyed. D'Eric had to be alive. Scott could sense it, and suddenly, being in a world with D'Eric in it was real again. Stiles couldn't help but smile.

Stiles had almost reached the bottom of the path when he saw them at the park gate. P'Eter was on the left. K'Aura was on the right, with Scott at her side. And standing in the middle, very much alive (and looking as beautiful as he always did), was D'Eric.

Stiles was thankful that video cameras did not exist on this world because he was sure the next moments were sheer soap opera madness. Him running the rest of the way down the hill. D'Eric breaking apart from the others to run forward to him. Meeting at the base of the hill, where Stiles shamelessly threw himself into D'Eric's arms and wrapped his legs around him, D'Eric easily supporting him. And then kisses. Stiles still wasn't sure what had happened with D'Eric, but he was not going to ruin the moment by letting D'Eric know that Stiles had already begun mourning his death. No. This was a different Stiles, one who was going to celebrate the fact that D'Eric was alive and by all appearances very well. And when Stiles pulled back just to look at him, there was the most enormous smile on D'Eric's face.

"What did I tell you?" Stiles asked, nuzzling his nose against D'Eric's. "I promised I would never leave you alone, and here's the result. You'll never get rid of me."

"I think I can live with that threat hanging over me," smiled D'Eric.

"Damn right," agreed Stiles, leaning in for another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And for those who are curious, here's the third dragon (somewhat abstract) from the now demolished downtown mall in Sacramento, CA: https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/9391831/IMGP0282.JPG


	14. Uncle P'Eter Explains It All

They had already decided to stay the night in Hishman, so D'Eric took Stiles (and K'Aura took Scott) to the hotel, while P'Eter went off to send a pigeon to the rest of the pack to let them know all was well.

Stiles was not exactly a barnacle, but D'Eric couldn't help but notice that at no moment were they not touching in some way. It had taken quite a while before Stiles was willing to let go of D'Eric, and while D'Eric was strong, he wasn't sure how long he would be able to hold Stiles up. But Stiles had unhooked his legs and stood back up on his own two feet, although it took considerably longer before he removed the hands cradling D'Eric's face and stood back far enough that D'Eric could see his face.

D'Eric just felt so good to see Stiles' smiling face. He could smell the residual anxiety and the sense of relief. And the overlay of arousal and joy that was so Stiles. D'Eric could feel his own smile, and he found himself leaning in for a kiss more than once. It was reassuring to feel the softness of Stiles' lips against his own, physical evidence that Stiles was actually here, touchable, real.

When D'Eric had regained consciousness, his first thoughts had been a confusion of sensations and awareness as he reconnected with his wolves. He remembered all too clearly being restrained and the sensation of feeling all the energies sucked out of his body by the medallions. But after that, it was just fragments - shouted words, a falling body, cold emptiness, but also Stiles, somehow near, somehow connected to him. While he was unconscious, he seemed to have revisited his very short time with Stiles, and when he awoke, it was with a sense of wanting to get back to Stiles, to make that very short time a very long time.

His wolves were there, touching him and crying, especially his sister. P'Eter was there, holding him, like he used to do when D'Eric was a small boy. K'Ira touched his hand, smiling. But in the bond, there was pain, too. D'Eric could feel the absence of E'Rica's life force, a rupture in the tightly woven strands of the bonds of the pack, and the pain of the loss in Boyd and Y'Sac, who grabbed on tightly to D'Eric. D'Ani sat a bit to the side, looking lost. D'Eric didn't have quite the same bond with D'Ani, but it was clear something had happened, something strong enough to shatter the general optimism that D'Ani usually brought with him.

Then he had realized two people were very much not there - Scott and Stiles. He had their names on his lips to ask P'Eter, but before he could do so, P'Eter had hugged him close and told him that not long after D'Eric had regained consciousness, they had lost any connection to Scott through the pack bond.

D'Eric asked where they were, and P'Eter had explained in his calm voice that D'Eric had been lost to the Land Before Death, and that Stiles and Scott had gone to Macon to go through the portal to bring him back. D'Eric could feel a sense of panic growing. If they had succeeded, why couldn't any of them feel Scott anymore? He remembered how Stiles had collapsed when they had gone to the Land Before Death the last time. He could only imagine too well that Stiles might have collapsed again, trapping them both in that place.

P'Eter had rubbed his back and told him to silence whatever morbid thoughts he was entertaining. How well his uncle knew him. He called him ‘your Stiles,’ and he reminded D'Eric that Stiles was a very enterprising young man. He would not let both of them get caught in the Land Before Death. Stiles might have been willing to sacrifice himself, but he would never have sacrificed Scott. P'Eter postulated that they must not have come out of the portal the same way they went in, and that's why they could no longer feel Scott through the pack bond.

D'Eric wanted to believe P'Eter's theory, and he must have convinced himself because he began to breathe more easily.

They decided they would meet Stiles and Scott when they returned. Rather than going up to Macon, they headed to Porter. If they came back through the portal in Macon, the train would be the logical way to return. The only other portal functioning was in Hishman. In the end, Boyd and Y'Sac stayed in Porter. K'Ira had remained in Beacon Hills to watch over the still recuperating D'Ani. The three Hales had ridden over to Tamalpais and then down to Larksong to ferry over to Hishman.

They were exhausted from the ordeal with the Duke and his Alphas, and there was no sign yet of Scott in this world. They took rooms at a hotel two blocks from the Golden Mountain and tried to get some rest while they waited.

D'Eric must have slept because the hours of the afternoon went by much more quickly than seemed possible. But D'Eric also remembered staring at the ceiling, edged in flowery plasterwork and a large oval plaster medallion in the center, thinking of Stiles but refusing to think about what might have happened to him. Instead, he imagined what Stiles might be doing at that very moment - having a cup of coffee, taking a nap, walking down the street with Scott, heading to the location of the portal and strong enough to come back to D'Eric.

It was about an hour after sunset. The sky still held a vestigial light, but it was clearly the onset of night, with streetlamps now illuminated and a nearly full moon rising in the sky. It occurred to D'Eric that it was New Year's Day. It had been so easy to get rooms because revelers must have already checked out from the partying of the night before. And suddenly he felt it. Scott's presence abruptly rejoined the pack bond, and D'Eric could tell from the strength of the presence that he was near. And if Scott was nearby, then Stiles had to be, too.

They all ended up in the hotel hallway less than a minute later, all having felt the same thing. Without a word, they knew to head out to the Golden Mountain.

They had just arrived at the gate to the parkland surrounding the mountain when Scott came running down the path. K'Aura gave out a shout of joy and ran out to meet him. D'Eric could see that Scott was growing into his werewolf power, and the full moon was only days away. D'Eric saw no sign of Stiles, but there was no doubt he could sense him and smell him, not only on Scott, but in the air, in this world. And then he could hear him, cussing out Scott for leaving him behind, cussing out all werewolves for forgetting their human friends, huffing as he came running down the hill.

D'Eric was already moving forward when Stiles appeared around the bend, and even though Stiles had been out of breath, in a heartbeat, Stiles had jumped into his arms, and D'Eric held onto this most precious of bodies gratefully.

\- - - - -

They were seated in a booth in the hotel restaurant. The reunion had restored everyone's appetite, and the five of them had consumed a significant amount of food.

D'Eric sat on the inside with Stiles' side comfortably pressed to his. Stiles also kept a warm hand resting on D'Eric's thigh, and D'Eric couldn't resist playing with Stiles' fingers under the table in between bites of his dinner.

Stiles was turned to P'Eter, who completed their side of the booth. K'Aura and Scott were not quite entwined (but close enough) on the other side.

"So it worked!" remarked Stiles, punctuating his comment with a gesture of his bread-pudding laden fork, nearly dislodging it.

"It did," confirmed P'Eter, who was enjoying a glass of absinthe.

Stiles put down his fork. "We couldn't tell, you know. I had D'Eric with me, but when I passed through the portal, I guess I expected his body to just miraculously appear, too. That was stupid."

"It was not stupid," said D'Eric, and he squeezed Stiles' hand. "How could you know what would happen when you brought someone out of the Land Before Death?" D'Eric leaned over to kiss Stiles on the cheek. "You saved me. You’re amazing."

"Yeah," smiled Stiles. "I kind of am, aren't I?" He frowned. "Just to be clear. I never want to do anything like that again."

"I promise to be careful," assured D'Eric.

"You'd better." Stiles turned his attention back to his bread pudding.

D'Eric wasn't having dessert and simply enjoyed watching Stiles enjoy his bread pudding. Stiles ate with the same enthusiasm he did most things, and D'Eric found himself thinking about how enthusiastic Stiles would be when they were alone and in bed.

"D'Eric." It was P'Eter giving him the stink eye. A glance across the table confirmed that his sister had noticed his preoccupation as well. D'Eric sighed.

"What?" D'Eric replied with resignation.

"I remember," said P'Eter, and suddenly P’Eter’s expression was totally out of character, showing a measure of hesitation.

D'Eric paused to search his brain. What had they been talking about?

"I remember what happened before L'Aura died," clarified P'Eter softly. “It all began coming back to me while I was waiting for Stiles to return – before the portal.”

"Oh," was all that D'Eric's managed to say.

"I want to tell you and K'Aura what happened," said P'Eter. He was looking down at his glass. “I’ve been replaying everything in my mind.”

D'Eric looked to K'Aura, who looked a bit uncertain. She gave a small nod. At the same time, D'Eric felt Stiles give a reassuring squeeze to his thigh. "Okay," D'Eric finally said. "You mean now?"

P'Eter looked up and shrugged. "It can be tomorrow or next week. Whenever you want. But I want to tell you what I now remember."

"Now is okay," said D'Eric. He wasn't sure he wanted P'Eter to tell them within hearing of the rest of the pack. Aside from Scott and Stiles, that is. He would judge what the others should know.

P'Eter nodded and took another sip of the blue-green liqueur. It seemed to restore his normal confidence.

"First, you have to understand that the attempt of the leader of the Oakston pack to consolidate his power over the whole region predates the Duke."

P'Eter had easily stepped into his professorial lecturing voice.

"It may even predate the birth of me or your parents. But the fact was, by the time you were born, the leader of the Oakston pack was a growing force to be reckoned with and a very dangerous one at that.

"The Alpha of the Oakston pack at that time was named G'Rar Argent. He was a fairly old man even when I was a boy, and I would guess he was in his late 60s, maybe early 70s by the time you were born. He was a dangerous man, not just because he was ruthless, which he was, but because he played a long game. He set things in motion that would take years to come to fruition, and when they did, they generally caught people completely by surprise. He was particularly successful with this strategy and politicians in Macon. He would bring up things that had happened decades before to bend politicians to his will. Most of the things were things he had helped to bring about - questionable loans, unsavory associations, illegal actions.

"Your mother T'Alia knew that G'Rar needed to be taken down, but he was successful because he was always on the alert. He trusted no one except one of his nieces and his daughter-in-law. They were his lieutenants - K'Ate and V'Ict. But your mother was an excellent player of the long game as well. She knew that to take down G'Rar, she would have to set a trap that subtly drew him in, so subtle that he would assume he was in control of the situation and would actively throw himself into the trap himself.

"Your mother told no one of her plans except me. I was her left hand - the person who carried out the things that she couldn't be seen doing. I arranged for her to meet the witch who created the medallions.

"It was your mother's idea to create a physical trap that would destroy G'Rar when he was ensnared. The concept of the trap became a portal, one that would send G'Rar out into a void. The trick would be getting G'Rar to think he was stumbling on to the elements of the trap, a trap disguised as something so powerful that your mother was trying to hide from him. He was too smart to be led into a trap. He would need to enter the trap of his own volition.

"So the witch created the three medallions which, when brought together, could create a portal of destruction for whoever went through it."

P'Eter paused to take another sip. D'Eric was feeling a bit uncomfortable. This sounded very much like dark magic, and he always assumed his mother stayed far away from it.

"Yes, D'Eric," P'Eter answered as if D'Eric had voiced his reservations out loud, "this was a dark magic, and as we know, all magic, but especially dark magic, has a cost. To enact the spell contained in the medallions would require a vessel and a catalyst. The catalyst was your mother, Stiles, who was a portaljack and central to the witch's conception of the spell. The vessel turned out to be D'Eric."

P'Eter looked around Stiles at D'Eric. "I don't know if you remember the day you got the triskelion tattoo on your back, but I now do. Your mother was hiding our visit to the witch in the guise of shopping, and she had brought you as part of that deception. You were only three I believe - just a toddler. She had left you with me when she went to meet with the witch and take possession of the medallions. We were sitting in a waiting area of the witch's home, and you were playing with a deck of tarot cards, lining them up in rows and columns and turning them over one at a time. Suddenly, you cried out and fell on the ground, twitching and shaking. When I went to you, you were crying and shouting that your back hurt. When I lifted away your shirt to see what might be wrong, the triskelion had appeared on your skin. Your mother came rushing out of the room where she was meeting with the witch, and when she saw the tattoo, she cried. She knew what it meant. She knew that as the vessel, you were almost certainly going to be sacrificed in order to enact the spell. But she pulled herself together to calm you down. She paid for the medallions and we left the witch.

"For years, I thought your mother had decided not to use the medallions after all, that she was not willing to sacrifice you, her son, in order to destroy the evil that was G'Rar Argent. The medallions simply disappeared, and I thought little of them amidst all the other things that were going on. But I was wrong. She was laying out the pieces that would one day lead G'Rar into looking for the medallions, pieces that she worked very hard to hide to make the deception all the more convincing.

"That's when your mother, D'Aura, left the pack and went through the portal to the other world. I didn't know until much later that T'Alia had entrusted her with one of the medallions to hide. After that, I saw D'Aura but only rarely although I know that T'Alia and M'Kel kept in regular touch. None of us knew where she had gone. We only knew that when D'Aura left us, she was completely severed from the pack bond. It was as if she had died, but we knew that she hadn't.

"And then G'Rar Argent died, of a type of lupine cancer of all things. His daughter K'Ate became Alpha, and it is an understatement to say that she was a ruthless woman. K'Ate had G'Rar's cunning, but she was also impulsive and volatile. And as we learned later, she was deadly. It was no secret that T'Alia had long actively opposed the Oakston Alpha's efforts to gain even more power. She had no doubt that there would be a bloody confrontation one day. What she didn't expect was for the Oakston pack to bring the confrontation to Beacon Hills.

"But your mother was an astute woman. She knew something was going to happen. That's when she sent you away to New Amsterdam to go to college, and sent K'Aura down south to school. In part, it was to keep you safe for the time being. Now it is clear that your mother was laying down further pieces of the trap." 

D'Eric could feel the dread growing as his uncle's story progressed. If the story had reached the point where he and K'Aura went away to school, it also meant that the deaths of everyone in his family were about to take place. K'Aura had burrowed more deeply into Scott's embrace, and D'Eric resisted the impulse to do the same with Stiles. He simply kept his hand resting on Stiles' beneath the table and tried to breathe regularly.

"Then the first direct attack occurred. T'Alia and M'Kel were away - as it turned out, in your world, Stiles, consulting with your mother. L'Aura was away with friends. I was in Porter conducting some family business that I no longer can recall. Everyone else was at the house in Beacon Hills. The Oakston pack surrounded the house and tried to attack, but we had laid wards, which kept them out. In retrospect, that made us complacent. We thought we were prepared.

"The remaining medallions had been kept hidden for all those years - but when T'Alia and M'Kel came back, she took them out of hiding, ironically to hide them somewhere new, to give the appearance that she was frightened because of the attack. One of them she was hiding herself. She tasked me with hiding the other.

"I had not seen D'Aura for many years, but T'Alia had asked her to help me hide the medallion in the Land Before Death. We were to travel together to Macon on the train together, she would open the portal, and I would take care of depositing the medallion beyond the portal. At the last minute, L'Aura asked to join us. She was in line to be the Alpha should anything happen to T'Alia, and she felt this was an important thing to be a part of. T'Alia agreed.

"You know better than any of us what it is like in the Land Before Death, Stiles. How the land draws your life force out of you into the vacuum. Even werewolves succumb to the drain of energy eventually. D'Aura opened the portal, and L'Aura insisted on joining me beyond the portal. We had no idea what it was like inside the portal, and our misconceived notion is what ruined us. We thought it was important to get as far from the portal entrance as possible to leave the medallion so that should someone else be able to open the portal, they would not easily find the medallion. So we walked through the land for a good twenty minutes, not realizing that distance had no meaning there. We had no idea how much our energy was being depleted. We finally put down the medallion, and then we turned to go back, stunned to find the portal entrance just a short distance away. We came out of the portal, and that's when we made a terrible discovery. The medallion would not be so easily left behind. When we came back out, the medallion reappeared in L'Aura's hand. She had been the last one to hold it in the Land Before Death.

"It was then we realized that one of us had to stay in the Land Before Death to keep the medallion there. Since L'Aura was to be the next Alpha, I insisted that I had to stay behind. We went in together, but L'Aura was younger than I was. She had not been as depleted by our time in the Land Before Death. She made as if she were going to give me the medallion when she attacked. I was much weaker than I knew, and she knocked me out and threw me out through the portal. By the time I regained consciousness, D'Aura was frantic, not knowing what had happened. I went back into the portal, but I could tell that L'Aura was no longer there. I didn't even look for the medallion. I simply left.

"T'Alia and M'Kel met D'Aura at Porter to accompany her back to Calatu and her return to her family. Apparently, D'Aura was helping T'Alia hide the last medallion.

“I was on my own, heading back to Beacon Hills. The horrible irony was that we all thought it was the safest place to be, far safer than away from the house. We hadn’t even strengthened the wards around the property because they had held against the earlier attack, but we later learned to our everlasting regret that wards can be overcome once they are understood.

"They were all there. My M'Lene and P'Aul, and J'Ill. K'Lare. B'Eth. S'Al. D'Rew. They broke the wards and then lay mountain ash around the house. When they set the house on fire, none of them could get out – the humans because of the fire, the wolves because of the mountain ash."

It was even worse than D'Eric anticipated. His uncle had described what happened with no emotion, a flat voice, like he was reading a grocery list. It was horrible. As P’Eter’s Alpha, D’Eric could sense the pain buried under the emotionless exterior. And then P'Eter continued as if it had all been a small detail. D'Eric wanted to cry.

"They were ambushed on their way back from Calatu, undoubtedly while rushing back when they felt the destruction of our pack. I was barely coherent, lost somewhere between Beacon Hills and Porter. When I felt my links to T'Alia and M'Kel fall, my whole world collapsed. I must have gone mad. I don't recall anything after that until I came back to myself in that institution, and you came back."

At the end, it was clear P'Eter was talking to him. D'Eric reached around Stiles and put his hand on his uncle's shoulder. P'Eter was back to looking down into his now empty glass.

It was quiet around the table. It had been horrible for all of them, to lose everyone in the pack. But D'Eric and K'Aura had had the benefit of distance. P'Eter had been here in the middle of it.

It was Stiles who finally broke the silence. He turned to look at P'Eter, and D'Eric could see how much Stiles felt for P'Eter. "When my mother started getting so sick that she had to go away to the hospital for days, I couldn't deal with it," Stiles said quietly. "I couldn't deal with the idea that my mom was sick. I wouldn't even let myself think about her dying. I pushed everyone who tried to comfort me away."

D'Eric saw Scott nod across the table.

"So I created an explanation for my mom's absences that I could handle," Stiles continued. "I told myself that she had written this amazing book, and the publisher was sending her on book tours all over the world. Every time she was gone, I imagined her signing autographs and smiling for cameras. Giving interviews. And after a while, this fantasy became more real to me than what was really happening. I'm sure that if you had given me a lie detector test, I would have passed because this had become my reality."

Stiles looked over at Scott now, and Scott reached out a hand across the table. For the first time that night, Stiles' hand left D'Eric's thigh and reached across to take Scott's hand in his.

"But when my mom finally died, the fantasy couldn't hold. I went crazy. I hated everyone, including my dad and sometimes even Scott. I snapped at everyone around me. But Scottie, here, wouldn't let me drown in the deep end. He stayed by me, and little by little he forced me to accept what I knew was true. That my mother had died a horrible, painful, flesh-destroying fucking-cancerous death. And it was only then that I could start to really move on."

D'Eric couldn't understand why Stiles was sharing this story, but his hand had left P'Eter's shoulder and was now holding Stiles in an embrace.

"If you really want to help D'Eric and K'Aura move on, help you move on, P'Eter, then you need to tell what really happened." Stiles took his hand from Scott's and rested it on P'Eter's. "Even if it's horrible."

P'Eter nodded. While Stiles had been speaking, P’Eter had appeared to shrink, but now he seemed to gather himself.

"Everything I told you was true except for one thing. The one thing I didn’t want to remember. The thing I still cannot bear to think about. L'Aura didn't die in the Land Before Death. We didn't have any problems leaving the medallion there. We arrived in Porter, like I said, and D'Aura was planning to leave with T'Alia and M'Kel. It was then that T'Alia passed out the green dragon tiles. She had had D'Aura make them. She knew that it was getting too dangerous for D'Aura to travel back and forth, but as I said, she was a planner. If we had not prevented G'Rar from expanding his power, this was a way for us to check in with each other. She had D'Aura make them, one for each of us. She had D'Aura put the date on the medallions, a date for us to meet in Calatu to check in once a year.

"It was after they had left for Calatu, while L'Aura and I were heading back together to Beacon Hills that the fire happened. We were near Petaluma, and suddenly we could feel the fear from the members of the pack.

"L'Aura and I raced back to Beacon Hills, nearly beating the horses to death to go faster. When we got to the house, it was in flames. We couldn't get into the house because of the ring of mountain ash, just up the porch steps, but we could hear, we could feel the members of the pack, screaming in fear for themselves and each other, screaming because of the searing heat. We both threw ourselves at the barrier, but it wouldn't yield. Even when the porch was in flames all around me, I still couldn't get through. I could feel myself going mad as the sounds of my wife and my children burning alive tore my mind apart. I stayed on the porch, now in flames myself, pounding against the barrier, screaming, crying, clawing against my impotence.

"L'Aura tried to save me. She had been burned as well, but she did not lose herself, even though she clearly felt our pack die just feet away from where we stood. They were all dead by then, and L'Aura came up on the porch to try and pull me away to safety. I didn't want to leave them, and when L'Aura took my arm to get my attention, I turned on her. I went mad and feral, and my mind was so filled with anger and despair that the next seconds are red and blank. And suddenly, I snapped out of it, and lying at my feet was the body of my beautiful and brave niece. She had tried to save me, and I had ripped her throat out, savaged her so brutally that her body lay flayed open, covered in blood that reflected the flames that still burned.

"I picked up her body, not knowing what I was going to do with it at first, and then realizing that the only thing to do was to let her join with the others I had already lost. I threw her body into the flames at the front of the house, and then I turned away and ran into the forest. I ran and ran, but I couldn't escape their cries. I couldn't escape what I had done in my madness.

“And then T’Alia and M’Kel were gone, and I couldn’t go on. They tell me I was senseless, nearly naked and covered with grime when I was found, but I had run so far away from the house that they didn't make the connection with the fire there. The clothes had literally been burned off my body along with any identification, but my body had already begun to heal from the burns. The only thing they found on me was the tile T'Alia had given me. It had survived the fire and was seared into my skin."

P'Eter didn't look much different after giving this second version of the story. He just looked blankly ahead. K'Aura was openly crying and leaning into Scott. D'Eric felt numb. His uncle had killed his sister, exactly what the Duke had suggested. But D'Eric couldn't hate his uncle for that. How could he given the fire and the death of his parents? A movement drew D'Eric's attention. Stiles had wrapped his arms around P'Eter, and to D'Eric's surprise, P'Eter allowed himself to be held.

"I unearthed a bit more about what happened that night, but nothing that really changes anything." P'Eter shifted out of Stiles’ arms, gave Stiles a small smile, and continued in that flat voice from before. "The one who had set the fire was K'Ate, acting as the new Alpha. But she didn't last long. It sounds like it was a quick, if bloody, coup. K'Ate and V'Ict and the rest of the Argents were killed by one of G'Rar's most trusted non-family lieutenants, H'Lion, nicknamed the Duke. And with the Argents out of the way, he rose to the position of Alpha over the Oakston pack, having killed its Alpha.

"The Duke was more ruthless than even G'Rar or K'Ate Argent, and when he discovered that, as the Alpha, when he killed his betas he assumed the power of the betas, he slaughtered the remaining wolves in his pack and then went about forming a new pack solely consisting of Alphas who, in their own turn, had gained the power of an Alpha who had killed off the rest of his/her pack.

"Clearly K'Ate or the Duke was behind the ambush that killed T'Alia and M'Kel in Calatu, and after that, the Duke thought there would be no more trouble from the Hale pack. The two of you stayed away, and the Duke was able to consolidate and grow his power."

"And then you woke up and figured out who you were," said Stiles gently, placing a hand on P’Eter’s shoulder.

P'Eter nodded. "And then D'Eric and K'Aura came back, and they found the tile that had been on my body, and the long game that T'Alia had started planning thirty years ago started its final inning."

After another pause, P'Eter said one last thing. "I can't imagine what it must have been like for T'Alia, to know that this evil had to be destroyed, to know that you were sacrificing your children to do so, and to be strong enough to see it through."

\- - - - -

They left the restaurant not long after P'Eter's final words. They all hugged and held on as they stood in the corridor outside their rooms, but eventually Scott and K'Aura left for K'Aura's room. Stiles asked P'Eter if he would like to have people around, but he declined. He gave a half-hearted version of his usual lecherous smile and said that he and D'Eric needed some time alone and went to his room by himself.

Stiles followed D'Eric into his room, and for the first time in all the time they had known each other, they were alone with no one threatening them, knowing they wanted each other and finally able to do something about it.

Which, D'Eric realized the next day, they actually didn't take advantage of, well, not that night in any case. P'Eter's story had taken what little energy D'Eric had left and sapped it completely. Stiles had pulled D'Eric into a kiss, but D'Eric was simply too depleted to generate much heat.

"It's okay," Stiles said, stroking his face. "We're in no hurry. We're taking things slow after all. Come on. Let's get ready for bed, and you can let me hold you."

D’Eric had been waiting in bed for Stiles for what seemed long minutes, and he got up to check on him. Stiles was lost in thought, standing at the bathroom sink, his toothbrush loosely held in his fingers.

D’Eric wrapped his arms around Stiles and asked him what he was thinking.

“It just came to me,” said Stiles, a sense of sorrow emanating from him. “If only things had happened a little different. If maybe your parents had been able to detect the cancer before my mom went back through the portal, they could have given my mom the bite. She might still be alive.”

D’Eric just held Stiles tight, allowing him to work through the ‘only if’ and ‘what might have been.’ They had both lost so much. At the same time, D'Eric marveled at this man, who had appeared in his life out of literally nowhere. Who seemed to know him so well even though they had barely known each other for a few weeks. Who pulled his pack together with seeming effortlessness to a cohesion that D'Eric had not been able to achieve over years. Who contained more strength and courage in that slender human body than any werewolf.

They finally moved to the bed, Stiles gradually releasing the sadness and the tension. As D’Eric snuggled in the warmth that was Stiles, long limbs entwined around him and Stiles' warm breath against the back of his neck, D'Eric realized that in Stiles he had rediscovered something that he had never hoped to regain. With Stiles here with him, D'Eric felt like he was home.


	15. The New Normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little more than just cuddles throughout - not too explicit (that is yet to come). Thanks for your comments, your kudos, and just for reading this far!

Stiles had known that what D'Eric needed the night before was not bedroom gymnastics, and Stiles was totally on board with cuddling up behind D'Eric for the night. There was no doubt in Stiles' mind how precious D'Eric was to him. He marveled at this man who had lost everyone but kept on going. He opened up his life to people who needed someone to provide a safe place, and once they were a part of his life, he gave them everything. He was a man who could be impulsive, but that was because he didn't hold back, not when the lives of those he cared about were concerned. And now Stiles was in that hallowed circle. And Stiles got to have this. A man who was not only beautiful on the outside but on the inside as well. A man whose body Stiles was going to get to explore and devour and excite and touch as much as he wanted. And he wanted that very much, thank you.

So when Stiles awoke the next morning, he was very much not on board with settling for just cuddles, as wonderful as they were. He suspected that D'Eric was not asleep at all, but D'Eric just lay there with his eyes closed and let Stiles' hands roam over his body, eventually venturing under the thin layer of his t-shirt to feel the heat and the smooth expanses of skin over ridges of muscle. Stiles' hands hesitated at the band of D'Eric's boxers, but only for a second. Then he slipped his right hand inside, and he let his fingers play with the curls of hair, slide along the angles of bone of D'Eric's hips, and finally trace along D'Eric's very hard length.

"And good morning to you, too," mumbled D'Eric in a sleepy voice.

"The best part of waking up," Stiles replied with a smile, and leaned over to kiss D'Eric even as his hand wrapped around D'Eric's cock.

D'Eric moaned into the kiss, and Stiles couldn't help but feel pleased. His evil plans were to make D'Eric shout loud enough that his wolves in Beacon Hills could hear him.

In the end, it wasn't clear whether D'Eric's cries of pleasures traveled the fifty miles to Beacon Hills, but they were sure to have reached the ears of the other wolves at the hotel. When Stiles crawled back up D'Eric's body, feeling quite smug at how well his oral skills had been received, D'Eric's only words were, "I'm not sure I'm ready to face them at breakfast."

Stiles kissed him. "If you're so worried, then here's your chance to make me embarrass myself. We can do the walk of shame together - well, not shame exactly - more like smug satisfaction. And I warn you. The saying, 'I scream when I come," was written with me in mind."

D'Eric suddenly flipped them over, the weight of his very solid body pressing Stiles into the mattress. "Well, then, you have some words to live up to."

Stiles is sure some of his brain cells exploded in sheer pleasure when D'Eric finally allowed him to come after what seemed like an eternity of slow strokes, kisses, over-stimulating fingers, and a mouth that performed as good as it looked. So he couldn't claim that his brain was functioning at full capacity, but he was pretty sure he lived up to the screaming part.

When they all met for breakfast, the response was not what Stiles had expected.

"Hey, man," said Scott in response to Stiles' apology for their excessive enthusiasm. "Hardly noticed a thing." Here he turned to give an adoring look to K'Aura. "I had other things to occupy my attention."

As for P'Eter, he said, "I found wax ear plugs in the vanity kit in the bathroom. Surprisingly effective. I will have to buy some for use at home."

Stiles laughed, so happy to be the target of some of P'Eter's snark. His remorse over L’Aura’s death was still clearly reflected in his eyes, but this was a sign that they could move on, given enough time.

They set out for Beacon Hills shortly after breakfast, and it was a remarkable journey back only because nothing remarkable happened. It was quiet on the roads, being the second day of the new year. Many people were taking a long weekend, so quite a few businesses were closed. The fivesome split into pairs and triads and then reformed during the ride back, and conversations, at least those Stiles participated in, focused on generally unweighty topics.

Stiles talked to P'Eter some about the upcoming full moon, however, a bit anxious about how this would affect Scott.

"He should really stay here," said P'Eter. "That way he can fully accept the power of the full moon and allow himself to become his wolf without worrying about hurting anyone around him or even himself. We will protect him."

"I'm guessing this is not a totally safe event for humans, even if they are pack," mused Stiles.

"Not really. D'Ani just stays in the house, and from what I gather, he reads, goes to bed early, and when he gets up, a pile of mud-covered naked human beings has washed up on the front porch. Which he ignores while he takes care of the property."

"So - not dangerous, just boring."

"Perhaps," said P'Eter.

"So maybe I'll just leave Scott here to undergo his lunar initiation, and I'll go back home on Sunday so that I can make his excuse for not showing up for work on Monday."

"He will be in good hands, Stiles," P'Eter reassured.

Stiles refused to acknowledge that he had been worrying. "I know he will."

\- - - - -

It was good to be back in Beacon Hills. It wasn't quite home for Stiles, but it was the closest thing to it that he had in this world. And to be honest, he was good pretty much anywhere as long as D'Eric and Scott were there.

There were hugs and cries of happiness at the reunion of the pack, but Stiles couldn't miss the cloud of sorrow that hung invisible in the clear winter sky. E'Rica was dead, and the absence of her abrasive personality and fierce loyalty was too great to easily fill. Y'Sac and Boyd were especially affected. They were happy to see the others, but what they needed the most was just to cling to D'Eric and each other. D'Eric and the two men spent hours just lying together on the couch, Y'Sac pressed to D'Eric on one side, and Boyd pressed into D'Eric on the other. They often ended up the nexus of a larger pile, with various pack members joining in.

The other person who still needed time to recover from the ordeal with the Duke was D'Ani. He greeted D'Eric and Stiles and the others heartily enough when they returned, but D'Ani no longer sought people out. Stiles often caught him standing quietly in the kitchen, by himself, looking out the window.

"If you ever need to talk," Stiles had offered, "you know you can also talk to me."

D'Ani had given him a small smile and thanked him. But over the next few days, he did not take Stiles up on his offer, and as far as Stiles could tell, D'Ani seemed to be pulling away from everyone else.

"I'm worried about D'Ani," said Stiles on Saturday night. He and D'Eric were in a post-coital recess, but as usual, even though Stiles' body was not quite up for another round of D'Eric Hale, his brain refused to shut down.

"I am, too," agreed D'Eric, who was wrapped around Stiles with his head resting on Stiles' chest. Stiles' restless fingers played with D'Eric's hair.

"Do you have any idea what the Duke did to him? I know he was hurt, and then he fell off the platform, but this seems like something much deeper."

D'Eric breathed heavily against Stile's chest, and Stiles shivered as the warm breath ghosted across one of his nipples. "He hasn't opened up to anyone," D'Eric finally said. "He hasn't talked to you? I thought he might since, you know..."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "If anything, that would give him less reason to talk to me."

D'Eric nodded. "Maybe he just needs some time to deal with the experience. We'll keep an eye on him, let him know we're here for him."

Stiles kissed the top of D'Eric's head. "You are the best."

Stiles could feel D'Eric's smile against his skin.

\- - - - -

There were a lot more sexy times that Saturday, and Stiles made an interesting discovery when he managed to focus on things other than how good it felt to be inside D'Eric or to have D'Eric inside him. They were spooning, with Stiles taking on the role of big spoon. He was slowly coming back to full consciousness and was aimlessly tracing the triskelion on D'Eric's back.

"Hey," said Stiles. "Did you know your triskelion is now in color?"

"Huh?" asked D'Eric, who was still a bit pliantly stupid from their previous activities.

"I mean, the triskelion is still black, but when I look closely, I can see that there's color in each of the spirals. You know, red, blue, and yellow, like the three medallions."

"So?"

"Just interesting," said Stiles, looking more intently at the triskelion now. "I thought the medallions had simply disappeared, but it looks like they merged with the tattoo. Freaky."

There was no reply. D'Eric had fallen asleep.

\- - - - -

Sunday morning was just long enough for a lazy round of sex. There was a lot of cuddling and nibbling, a lot of wet tongue, and a lot of friction. D'Eric fucked Stiles langorously for a good long while with both of them on their sides, ending up with a definite increase in tempo and a finish that meant D'Eric would have the smell of Stiles in his bed for days. Soon it was midday and time for Stiles to head back. The next day was the full moon, and Stiles would meet Scott at the portal in Hishman at 4:00pm on the day after that to bring Scott back into their world. D'Eric insisted on riding down with Stiles, even though that would mean another long ride back to Beacon Hills. They eventually compromised on D'Eric riding as far as Larksong, and Stiles did think it was pretty romantic waving from the deck of the ferry to his boyfriend on the shore.

It was a bit strange to be back in his world. Everything seemed more hurried and louder and brighter, but Stiles did appreciate having a cell phone and computer again. He called in for Scott, leaving a message saying that Scott still had not recovered from the flu. He would call again the following night. He caught up on his email, most of it junk. He called his father and talked about the friends he had spent New Year's Eve with, neglecting to mention that they were werewolves, that they had been in another world, and that they had nearly all died. His dad really didn't need to know that. His dad had worked New Year's Eve, and like normal, the night had been filled with the unruliness of the drunk and uninhibited. He had slept most of New Year's Day, and he had had a nice dinner with Scott's mom (just a dinner between friends, or so he said), a very nice start to the new year according to his dad.

And then Stiles had time to think, and he began to itemize all the logistical challenges of his relationship with D'Eric. First, he really wanted to just talk to him, but there was no way to communicate with him since there were no telephones that crossed worlds. Even if he crossed the portal in Hishman, there was no way to communicate with D'Eric all the way up in Beacon Hills. Second, the journey from Beacon Hills to Hishman was just way too long. You couldn't rush the horses every time, so that meant trips of more than four hours just to see D'Eric and the pack. Third, the journey to Beacon Hills aside, how often could he logistically see D'Eric? He had a job, so he had to be in this world at least five days a week. He wanted to see his father at least once every two weeks, so that meant, at most, a visit with D'Eric only once every two weeks, and a very short visit at that once the journey back and forth was factored in.

Stiles sighed. Why was he focusing on all the things that made life difficult when he actually had D'Eric Hale interested in him? Because he was Stiles Stilinski. He couldn't stop being the obsessive idiot that he was.

\- - - - -

The universe decided to laugh at Stiles' preoccupations, and Stiles found that he and D'Eric managed to establish a rhythm to their relationship that worked for both of them.

D'Eric and K'Aura had been there with Scott, waiting on the hilltop in Hishman, the day after the full moon. Scott looked a bit tired, but there was an undeniable exuberance. Being a werewolf was agreeing with him. While he and K'Aura made moon eyes at each other, D'Eric and Stiles talked. D'Eric, too, had been thinking about how they would manage to see each other on a regular basis.

How it ended up was amazingly simple. With the Duke out of the picture, the pack was no longer in immediate danger, and D'Eric had more freedom to be away. D'Eric would come to Hishman every other week, and he would stay with Stiles and Scott. Stiles blocked out long weekends for the following three months for the weeks D'Eric would go home, and Stiles would go with him. The extra day (or days) would make the journey back and forth more palatable.

D'Eric alternated weeks in San Francisco with K'Aura, who was torn between wanting to be with Scott and wanting to be with the pack. With Stiles leaving for long weekends while she was there, she and Scott had some privacy. Because of this arrangement, of all the pack members, Stiles actually spent the least amount of time with K'Aura. The other pack members also came through, each in their turn, at some point. The only one who never came into Stiles and Scott's world was D'Ani.

Stiles was nervous about how long he and D'Eric could do this strange twist on a long-distance relationship, but when Valentine's Day arrived, he realized that it was working. D'Eric was becoming quite familiar with his world and navigating the Muni system. Stiles suspected it was a bit troubling for all the wolves when they came through the portal and lost their wolfy powers, but D'Eric said nothing about it.

They fell into a domesticity almost instantly. The first day Stiles came home from work to find that D'Eric had cooked him dinner, Stiles had cried, he was so touched. D'Eric often cooked when he stayed with Stiles, but Stiles insisted they also go out and try cuisines outside of D'Eric's experience. When Scott was not working late, he often joined them, and there were many nights just watching TV on the couch, the three of them slumped together on the couch, legs entwined and heads on laps. D'Eric loved television, especially British detective mysteries. Stiles tried to puzzle out what attracted him, but he decided it didn't matter. He simply kept adding British detective mysteries to his Netflix queue and Amazon Prime watch list. Stiles also got D'Eric a cell phone to use when he was in this world.

Valentine's Day was spent in D'Eric's world. It fell on the Presidents Day weekend, and by adding a few vacation days, Stiles was able to spend almost a whole week in Beacon Hills. He helped D'Ani cook for the pack. He worked in the garden with Y'Sac and K'Ira. He spent time playing Go with P'Eter. He spent quiet times with Boyd reading. And he spent quite a lot of time in what he decided to call pack piles, the warmth of the bodies around him usually putting him to sleep before long.

It continued to go so smoothly that Stiles knew a crisis was on the way.

\- - - - -

"I have to introduce you to my dad." Stiles had been mulling this over for the week D'Eric had been away. They had been a couple for over three months. Stiles had mentioned obliquely to his dad that there was a guy that he was seeing, but now that they had been more or less living together (albeit in two worlds) for over three months, he had to bring D'Eric to meet his dad.

"Okay," said D'Eric, who was lounging on the couch flipping through Stiles' latest issue of Wired magazine.

"You're okay with that?" Stiles asked. "Really? Most guys would think I was going too fast. You know, introducing you to my father."

"K'Aura's already met him," was D'Eric's only comment.

With that, it was more or less a done deal. Stiles called his dad and said he would be bringing someone with him to dinner that weekend. After that, Stiles was a nervous wreck.

"What are you so nervous about?" asked D'Eric, who was irritatingly calmly reading the newspaper over breakfast. "K'Aura said your dad is great. You already told him you were seeing some guy." At this, D'Eric gave Stiles a raised eyebrow. "It should all be good."

"Right," said Stiles, pacing in front of the stove, mug of coffee in hand. "You have no idea. It's one thing for Scott to bring a girl to meet my dad. Scott has a history of stable relationships - the two of us aside. My dad trusts Scott. Me, on the other hand, not so much. Remember, my dad has experienced the repercussions of my abysmal relationship history. He has so much right to be skeptical. Not to mention that you're K'Aura's brother. I can already imagine my dad wondering if this is a Scott thing - which it's not. But siblings - really - why wouldn't he wonder?"

D'Eric grabbed Stiles on his way past and pulled him into his lap. Even in this world, D'Eric was amazingly coordinated, and he managed to get Stiles seated without spilling Stiles' coffee. "You're rambling, Stiles," said D'Eric in that low rumble that sent shivers down Stiles' back and straight to his groin. "I repeat, what are you so nervous about?"

Stiles turned his head and looked into D'Eric's eyes. Everything he saw spoke of certainty and love, and Stiles was so afraid he was going to fuck it all up. In a small voice, he told D'Eric the truth. "It's never meant so much to me before. Even with Scott."

"Oh, Stiles," said D'Eric gently, running a hand over his cheek. "You have me. You're all I want. You know that, don't you?"

Stiles nodded, embarrassed at how much he needed to hear that. How in the world did he deserve someone like D'Eric? "I know. I just get stupid and need to be reminded."

"Well," said D'Eric, leaning in. "I can help remind you." He kissed Stiles slow and deep, and Stiles could suddenly breathe again. D'Eric's kisses did that to him. "I can remind you a lot."

\- - - - -

D'Eric did a very good job of reminding Stiles how much D'Eric was into him, more than once in fact, and to the point that they were almost late getting out of the city and on the way to Santa Rosa.

Stiles coasted along on a post-coital high for most of the drive up, and it wasn't until he took the exit off the freeway that he started feeling nervous again.

"Breathe, Stiles," said D'Eric, placing a reassuring hand on his thigh.

Now they were in the Stilinski kitchen. D'Eric was seated at the kitchen table across from Stiles' dad. Stiles was assembling the shish-kebabs he was grilling for dinner, focusing on skewering chunks of vegetable and beef rather than on the two men behind him.

"It figures," commented his dad. "Scott falls for your sister, and Stiles falls for you. I'm only surprised the two of you aren't twins."

Stiles was just about to object, but he caught himself before he could say something undoubtedly incriminating and just kept skewering.

"When my sister introduced us, there was something about Stiles that just felt right to me," said D'Eric. "I'm very lucky we had the chance to get to know each other, and things seem to be working out."

Stiles could imagine the look his dad was giving D'Eric. Stiles generally did not inspire such calm certainty.

It was quiet for a bit too long, in Stiles' opinion, but there was no way he was going to turn around. Finally, his dad broke the silence. "You are lucky, D'Eric. And Stiles is lucky, too, if you're still this even-keeled after dating him for months. He needs someone to reign in his excessive enthusiasm."

"I'm right here," Stiles couldn't help saying before biting his tongue. He stabbed another piece of zucchini through the heart. 

"I'll do my best," said D'Eric, apparently ignoring Stiles' outburst. He heard the two men behind him clink glasses. If he had been nervous before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now that it looked like D'Eric and his dad had bonded. He was doomed.


	16. Fated to Be Mated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "explicit" tag was used because of this chapter.

Things were going so well, which is why Stiles knew they couldn't last.

"Okay, what's wrong?" asked Scott, who was standing in the doorway of the kitchen of their San Franciso apartment.

Stiles finished scooping the final ball of dough onto the cookie sheet. He knew Scott knew this was stress baking. Stiles put the sheet into the oven before turning to talk to his friend.

"It's D'Eric," said Stiles miserably.

"I know it has to do with D'Eric," sighed Scott. "I asked what, not who."

Stiles knew he was being melodramatic, but Scott would forgive him once he had a plate full of crisp chocolate chip cookies with melty chocolate chips in front of him. It was early June, and Stiles couldn't believe that they had successfully navigated their relationship past the five-month mark. But something was wrong.

"It's just a feeling," began Stiles.

"That's always a dangerous place to start," said Scott archly.

"You are the worst friend, ever," grumped Stiles. He looked at Scott, and just like that, Scott held open his arms. Stiles walked the three steps across the kitchen and allowed Scott to enfold him in a hug. "You are the best friend, ever," Stiles admitted.

"Now that we've gotten that out of the way, tell me what's wrong. You and D'Eric still seem totally into each other."

Stiles nodded. "We are. Everything is good. We talk. We cuddle. We have sex."

"The big three," joked Scott. "So what's wrong?"

"I don't know," said Stiles in frustration. "When I try to pin it down, everything seems great. But I have this feeling that something's wrong. Like D'Eric needs something, but I don't know what it is."

"Something you don't want to do?" asked Scott, running a reassuring hand down Stiles' back.

"I'd do anything for him!" insisted Stiles. "It's like he's afraid to tell me."

"Maybe he wants you to go back to the Land Before Death," joked Scott.

"Ugh," moaned Stiles. "Don't joke about that. But if he asked, I would, you know. But I don't think so."

Scott nodded into Stiles shoulder. "But it's something serious, you're sure?"

"I'm sure," said Stiles. "Maybe it's something werewolfy that I'm missing. You're a werewolf. What do you need from K'Aura?"

"Nothing I wouldn't need from any girlfriend, Stiles," said Scott. "But I'm just a new werewolf. Maybe you need to talk to a real werewolf."

"I am not talking to your girlfriend," said Stiles sharply. "She's my boyfriend's sister. That's just too many levels of wrong."

"I wasn't thinking of K'Aura," said Scott. "I was actually thinking of someone older, wiser, and a lot creepier."

\- - - - -

And so Stiles found himself waiting in the library at the Hale house a week later, feeling the general discomfort he always had knowing he was going to be in an enclosed space with P'Eter Hale.

The door clicked shut, and Stiles realized he was no longer alone.

"So how can I help you, Stiles?" P'Eter's voice never failed to send shivers down Stiles' spine, and definitely not in a good way.

It wasn't quite like talking about D'Eric with his sister, but Stiles wasn't sure that talking with D'Eric's uncle was that much better. "It's about D'Eric," Stiles began, somewhat uncertain about how to explain what was wrong.

"Of course," said P'Eter.

"Maybe it's about werewolves," continued Stiles.

"I see," said P'Eter. 

As usual, P'Eter's economy of words was proving exasperating. Stiles was about to ask him to throw him a bone, but he realized that it was not the time for canine humor, even if unintentional.

"I think things between us are going well," resumed Stiles, "but something feels off. Like there's something that D'Eric needs, or wants, but he won't ask me, so I don't know what it is."

P'Eter hummed as if in agreement. Stiles rolled his eyes. The man was truly infuriating.

"As far as I can tell, things are good between the two of you," confirmed P'Eter. "D'Eric smells content when he's with you. When you're not here, D'Eric is definitely less so."

Stiles smiled at that. He liked making D'Eric content. So what was wrong?

"Then I don't understand," said Stiles. "If he's so content, why do I get this feeling he needs something more?"

It was P'Eter's turn to smile, and Stiles found it somewhat unnerving. "It's a very good sign that you can sense this, Stiles. What do you know about werewolf relationships?"

Stiles thought. "Uh, nothing really. Are werewolves different? That was just a guess."

"They are different, Stiles," said P'Eter, "although in many respects things are the same as between humans.

"Werewolves get crushes, and sometimes it's just lust," continued P'Eter, "and sometimes werewolves start a relationship that ends up not working out. But werewolves do have a few senses that help to sort out how well a relationship is going." Here he touched his nose, and Stiles had to roll his eyes yet again. He waved his hand to get P'Eter to move on.

"When a werewolf finds who he thinks is the right person, he spends some time to make sure, but compared to humans, a werewolf comes to a decision and a conclusion fairly quickly."

"And has D'Eric decided that about me?" asked Stiles, hopeful but also apprehensive.

"I believe he has," confirmed P'Eter.

"So what happens then?" asked Stiles.

"That's where humans and werewolves differ, and perhaps that's what is troubling you. But before I go too much further, I need to know, Stiles. How do you feel about D'Eric?"

Stiles was ready to jump in with an immediate reply, but something stopped him. He paused and gave himself a bit of time to think. This seemed too important. "I guess," said Stiles, "I don't really trust my own judgment. I've been in relationships before, but I didn't always read them right. I tend to get too focused on the relationship and I don't see the signs that things aren't working. I think I really love D'Eric, and I want to be sure that I'm what he needs. I think he loves me, too, but I think he needs something more. Maybe he needs something I can't give him."

P'Eter smiled again. This time it was less creepy, and Stiles wasn't sure what to think of that. "When werewolves finally choose a life partner, that's it. There is no werewolf divorce. Should the life partner die, the werewolf often dies soon after. If not, the werewolf lives within the pack, but the werewolf never chooses another life partner. For a werewolf, this choice is all or nothing. It's a life-long commitment."

Stiles nodded, understanding, but not knowing where P'Eter was going with this.

"Werewolves call these life partners 'mates'. While 'mating' may just mean 'having sex' to a human, the term carries much more weight with a werewolf. Werewolves do find mates among humans, but it's not always easy. For werewolves, the relationship is all consuming, and for the humans in these relationships, this can be too much to take. Humans have backed off from becoming the mate of a werewolf, afraid of how permanent this is. On the other hand, there are many successful matings of werewolves and humans, including in the Hale pack. The two just need to want the relationship equally much."

Stiles nodded again, this time with a growing understanding. "So you're saying that D'Eric is there already. He wants me to be his mate."

P'Eter nodded.

"But he doesn't know how to ask me, and he's not sure that I'm ready to say 'yes', or if I'll ever be."

P'Eter nodded again.

Stiles took a deep breath. He had always thought he was the one to get in too deep, but he had found his match in D'Eric. "Okay then," he said. "Knowing D'Eric, he's going to have trouble with the words. What do I do to show him this is something I want, too?"

P'Eter gave Stiles a positively lecherous smile, and for some reason, that reassured Stiles. "Excellent. It will be my pleasure to demonstrate for you how to show a werewolf that you want to be his mate. My enormous pleasure."

Stiles rolled his eyes, but he was ready.

\- - - - -

If he could capture a single moment in his life to return to at will, this would be it, thought D'Eric. Stiles, naked and glistening with sweat lay pliant, moaning beneath him, shifting and clenching at each of D'Eric's thrusts, eyes bright and staring into his, arms to his side, fingers digging into the sheeted mattress, perfect. D'Eric thrust again, feeling Stiles surround him at that most sensitive point of contact, and he felt that surge of joy and protectiveness as another deep-throated moan came out of Stiles' mouth and his eyes rolled back in pleasure.

It was perfect, but D'Eric knew how easily he could ruin it all. He always wanted too much and too quickly. They had said they would go slow, whatever that might mean, but D'Eric knew, had known for months, that Stiles was the one. Stiles was brave and loyal, loving and generous, intelligent and fierce. He wasn't afraid to argue with D'Eric because he wanted D'Eric to be the best Alpha he could be. And when D'Eric moved forward with an idea or a plan, there was no one more supportive than this amazing man who shared his bed and, more and more, his life.

D'Eric told himself he could wait. How could he confront Stiles with a decision that, for D'Eric, meant for the rest of their lives? Humans rarely proposed after less than six months, but humans could not be more sure than D'Eric was of how he felt and how he felt Stiles fit into his life. But how did Stiles feel about him? He knew Stiles loved him, of that he had no doubt. But was Stiles ready to make a life-long commitment, to be his mate, to carry the weight of knowing that for D'Eric, he was it for the rest of D'Eric's life?

"What's wrong?" mumbled a gorgeously disheveled Stiles. "You stopped."

D'Eric looked down at his lover, the man he loved. "You're perfect," he said, and slowly began to move, shallow grinding that soon had Stiles moaning again.

D'Eric listened as Stiles' breathing began to speed up, a match to the racing of his pulse. He watched as Stiles' chest turned rosy from the blood rushing to the surface, a sign that he was close. And then Stiles tossed his head back with a groan, baring his slender neck in a long sleek line. The wolf in D'Eric howled, wanting to mark that expanse of pale skin, but D'Eric kept his wolf painfully in check. There was no way that Stiles could know what that position meant, that achingly beautiful sign of submission. D'Eric wanted it so much, but he couldn't. Not until Stiles understood what it meant. Not until he was ready.

"I want it," said Stiles through ragged breath, his head still tilted back, his adam's apple shuddering with each breath.

"What do you want?" D'Eric managed to reply. He was close. Watching Stiles as his whole body tensed and throbbed in anticipation always set his blood racing.

Stiles tilted his head forward a bit so that he was now looking at D'Eric, his eyes impossibly wide and bright, and a smile on his lips. "I want us," he said. "For as long as we have in this life. I want everything, D'Eric."

D'Eric couldn't stop the actions of his hips, but he was trembling. His mind was exploding with the possibility of what Stiles was offering. How could Stiles know?

"I..," D'Eric stuttered, feeling his orgasm building. "Are you sure?"

"D'Eric," Stiles said, sure and steady, as he always was for D'Eric. "Ask me, D'Eric. You already know the answer."

D'Eric's body felt electric, like it was going to arc. He could barely pull his thoughts together enough for coherent speech, but he had wanted this for so long. And Stiles was asking. "Stiles," he breathed in between thrusts that threatened to rip his mind free from his body, "Stiles, I want you to be my mate. Will you?"

Stiles' face went impossibly bright with happiness, and as he said, "Yes," he tilted his head back.

D'Eric leaned forward, his canines already sharpening in anticipation of the mating bite, and with a delicacy he didn't know he was capable of in the midst of this pounding in his veins and in his groin, he bit into the ineffable softness of Stiles' throat, just enough to break the skin and bring a gentle flow of blood to the surface. He could feel Stiles shudder beneath him at the bite, and almost instantly, D'Eric pulled back to lap at the wounds that he had opened up.

It was iron and salt on his tongue, the silkiness of Stiles' heated skin, the awareness of Stiles' pulse of life, the feel of Stiles fingers digging into his back as he felt Stiles come. All of that merged together as D'Eric felt his orgasm rip through him, a burst of light behind his eyes to go with the burst of sensation that exploded in his gut. For a second, he couldn't breathe, as if all of his being was trapped in this instant, this fragment of awareness, this feeling of incomparable completeness, this single man - Stiles, his mate.

D'Eric lost track of the moments, the seconds, the minutes, and it was only when Stiles spoke again that he returned to himself. But not the same self he was a short time ago. A self that was now so much more.

"Wow," breathed Stiles, whose face was buried in the crook of D'Eric's neck.

"Yeah," confirmed D'Eric, his nose buried in Stiles' hair, breathing in the essences of Stiles.

"So, we're like wolf-married now?" said Stiles lightly.

"Definitely," said D'Eric.

"No take backs," said Stiles, and it was a statement, not a question.

"No take backs," agreed D'Eric.

Stiles hummed contentedly beneath him. They lay like that for what could only have been a minute or two when Stiles remarked, "Whoa. I thought marriage took some of the spice out of a relationship. I can't believe you're already up for another round."

D'Eric had to think for a second, finding it hard to focus. But sure enough, he had grown hard again, and before he could control it, his hips began to thrust shallowly into Stiles.

"I...," began D'Eric.

"...have no idea what's happening," finished Stiles, rolling his eyes even while looking fond. "It's okay. I'm not ready myself, but you are completely free to take wolfy advantage of my irresistible nubileness for your own nefarious purposes. Use me."

With that, Stiles wrapped his legs around D'Eric's back, and suddenly, D'Eric was thrusting into Stiles with an urgency he had never felt before, the need to possess, to claim, to come.

With a cry, D'Eric came again, and he could feel the pulses of his orgasm, thick and heated, coursing through him. He felt as if he had been coming for long minutes before the waves of his orgasm diminished. It had been intense and evidently triggered the pleasure zones of his body, but it had been a bit painful as well, too sharp to really enjoy.

"Huh?"

D'Eric snapped to awareness. "What's wrong? Did I hurt you? Am I crushing you?" D'Eric moved to pull off Stiles, whose questioning sound had reminded D'Eric that Stiles was underneath him.

"Calm down, wolfie. I'm fine." Stiles pulled D'Eric back into warm hands and Stiles' legs still hooked around his back. "Nothing bad. Just an odd feeling."

"What do you mean?" asked D'Eric, still working to bringing his breath and pulse back to normal.

"It was like...," Stiles hesitated. "When you came, it was like I could almost feel it. If you haven't noticed, I'm like totally hard again. I haven't had a refractory period this short since I was a teenager. Is that because we mated?"

"I'm not sure," said D'Eric. "Maybe?"

Stiles laughed. "That's what I love about you. You are the hottest man I have ever met. You're an Alpha werewolf. You are totally amazing. And you almost never really have a clue."

"You still love me?" D'Eric asked.

"Definitely," said Stiles, kissing him on the jaw.

D'Eric lost himself in the feel of Stiles wrapped around him, his lips soft against his jaw. He could feel Stiles hard against him, and it was like heat on his skin where Stiles' erection touched him. The heat filled him, moving through his core and into his chest, moving through his core and down into his cock, setting his nerve endings on fire.

"Oh God," Stiles cried out. "It's like I can feel what you're feeling, like my cock is your cock inside me."

D'Eric was losing himself in the sensations that were coursing through his body, but he knew what Stiles was saying. He could feel it too. He could feel himself, hard yet again inside the heat that was Stiles, but he was also aware of how it felt to be filled, as if Stiles were inside him. D'Eric couldn't help it and moved inside Stiles, and it was electric. Sparks of intense pleasure burst along his skin.

"I have to..." Stiles moaned, and keeping D'Eric deep within him, he flipped them so that D'Eric was splayed on his back, and Stiles was crouched over him. And before he could voice his approval of this change in position, Stiles was moving, clenching his body around D'Eric as he lifted up, only to come crashing back down, thrusting D'Eric's length completely inside him. D'Eric's hands gripped Stiles' thighs, and he could feel the muscles tense as Stiles lifted himself and relax as Stiles allowed his weight to bring D'Eric fully inside him.

D'Eric was mesmerized by the sight of Stiles, gleaming with sweat, his head thrown back as again and again he rode D'Eric. He was so beautiful, and he was his mate. His forever.

Each thrust into Stiles' body elicited another cry, and D'Eric could feel another orgasm building. This one consumed his whole body. The sensation wasn't just centered in his cock but tingled down all of his limbs and again set off bursts of light behind his eyes. Stiles' vocalization was now a single sustained moan, and D'Eric joined him with cries that were forced out of him with each breath. D'Eric exploded, and he felt as if his entire being was flooding into Stiles, merging its essence with Stiles', like a summer storm where the burst of water disappeared almost immediately into the thirsty earth.

The weight of Stiles' body collapsing on his was accompanied by a groan. "Oh my god," Stiles said hoarsely. "I have never come so hard in my life. I thought my body was literally exploding."

D'Eric couldn't help but smile. He had done this, brought Stiles such pleasure that he was now boneless with completion. He could feel Stiles' come already cooling between their bodies.

"I can hardly move," murmured Stiles. "You shot, like, three loads inside me. It's going to be a major clean up," Stiles groused, but he didn't actually sound disappointed. "But first, I need to rest. I need to regain the strength to move my limbs."

Within a breath, Stiles had fallen asleep on D'Eric's chest, D'Eric still inside him. D'Eric soon followed him, happiness filling him with a contentment he had never experienced before. Stiles, forever.


	17. Not Quite an Epilogue

It was kind of freaky being mated to a werewolf. Obviously, Stiles wasn't going to have the full range of wolfy senses. His sense of hearing and smell seemed just the same. However, he could sense when members of the pack were nearby, especially D'Eric. He knew almost instantly how D'Eric was feeling, whether he was frustrated or excited or concerned. And he could pick up emotions off the wolves, too, just not as detailed as what he got off of D'Eric. He was suddenly part of something bigger than himself. Of course, he always had been, but now there was this tangible manifestation of it. And Scottie, who had always been an open book to Stiles, was, probably like, totally transparent now. Regrettably, the flip side was probably also going to be true. Stiles would need new strategies to pull things over on his best friend in the future when they were in this world together.

The day after they had mated, the wolves (except Scott and K'Aura, who were, as usual, in the other world while Stiles was here) were all over him. Again, nothing sexual - well, to be honest, all the rubbing was a bit sexual as far as Stiles' body was concerned, but not intentionally so (well, except for Y'Sac, the super tease) - but it was like they couldn't stop rubbing up against him, like he was a very popular tree at the local dog park, and they all had to get their piece of him. D'Eric explained that they could feel how happy D'Eric was, and the fact that Stiles was D'Eric's mate meant that they wanted not only to share that happiness but be marked by it through Stiles' scent as well as D'Eric's.

Even D'Ani, who continued to be withdrawn compared to his former self, drew closer, adding himself to the sudden attacks of hugs that filled the day.

"So," asked Stiles later that day as he and Y'Sac were working in the garden alongside K'Ira, "how can you tell?"

"You both smell different. It happens to all mated pairs," Y'Sac replied, pulling up some chickweed.

"Actually the noise already tipped us off," added K'Ira, digging her fingers around a particularly stubborn dandelion. "I don't understand why mating sex has to be so loud."

Stiles could feel himself blush, but it was ridiculous since there were so many things that were just not private in the same way as it was between humans. K'Ira gave him a sideways grin, so Stiles knew she was just winding him up.

"Wait," said Stiles, pausing from his labors. "Who else have you smelled, that's mated I mean?" The question was directed at Y'Sac.

"Scott and K'Aura, duh," said Y'Sac not even looking up.

"They're mated?" asked Stiles in surprise. "Why didn't he tell me?"

"Because everybody knows," responded Y'Sac. "But apparently not you."

Stiles' face must have reflected how betrayed he felt at his best friend keeping this from him.

"Oh, stop it, Stiles," said Y'Sac impatiently. "It's not that big a thing. Sure, it's a big deal for Scott and K'Aura, but don't tell me you didn't know they were, like, totally together. Mating was just sealing the deal. And it's not the same as having your Alpha find a mate."

"I'm totally making him and K'Aura get married in our world," said Stiles, still a bit put out at having been left out. "Confetti and cooked rice - the whole shebang." Suddenly, the rest of Y'Sac's words caught up with him. "What do you mean it's not the same as for D'Eric? I mean, finding a mate, it's like totally important to all werewolves, right? That's what P'Eter told me."

"Not that he was wrong," commented K'Ira, "but I am disturbed that you went to P'Eter for mating advice."

Stiles stuck his tongue out at K'Ira. "So explain about mating Alphas."

"Maybe you should ask P'Eter," said Y'Sac with a totally straight face. "You know, since he's your font of wisdom." But he couldn't hold it, and he had to laugh.

"You knew you were getting into this when you mated with D'Eric, didn't you?" asked K'Ira, who just looked at Y'Sac like he was an idiot. Which he totally was.

"I really didn't think through the mating in-laws thing," grumbled Stiles.

Y'Sac had finished laughing and sat back on his calves. "Sorry, I couldn't resist. But really, a mated Alpha makes a pack stronger. The Alpha has more focus, and the Alpha draws strength from his mate. You make D'Eric better."

K'Ira nodded. "D'Eric has been better just being with you, but we all knew how much he wanted you as his mate. It was so obvious that we even stopped teasing him about it."

"Wow," said Stiles. "I'm rarely the last to know, but I guess I was. Am." He shook his head to clear it. "So, is it unusual to have same sex matings?"

"Boyd and I are mated," said Y'Sac, who had returned to his weeding.

"Really?" said Stiles, again surprised but then again not. "Were you both mated to E'Rica?" Shit, that had come out before he had time to think. His stupid curiosity.

"I don't think there are three-way matings," said Y'Sac, who didn't look put out by Stiles' question. "The three of us had a very close bond, but because there were three of us, none of us mated because that would have left one of us out. But after E'Rica died, Boyd and I couldn't see why we shouldn't, so we did."

"Just like that?" asked Stiles.

"Just like that," confirmed Y'Sac. "It's important, but Boyd and I were already so close. It just confirmed what we already had. Not a big deal."

And yet, Stiles thought, it was a very big deal.

\- - - - -

"So when are you and K'Aura going to get married?"

Stiles and Scott were home in their San Francisco apartment alone, one of the rare weekends when neither of them was in the other world and neither of their werewolf mates was staying with them. The TV was on, but the sound was muted, and they were sitting companionably on the couch on opposite ends, their legs entwined in the middle.

"When you and D'Eric get married, I guess," was Scott's reply.

"You mean like a double wedding?"

"Sure," said Scott. "I mean, what's the point of dragging your dad and my mom to the court house twice for essentially the same ceremony. We should definitely do it together."

"Double the pleasure, double the fun," remarked Stiles.

"You don't want a big wedding, do you?" asked Scott. "You know, like with flower girls and attendants and all that stuff?"

Stiles was giving that a thought when Scott jumped in, "I mean, it's totally okay if you do, but..."

Stiles laughed and kicked Scott gently. "I'm not that kind of guy, Scottie. You know me well enough. I'm just thinking about getting married."

"Kind of a cool thing, isn't it?" Scott asked, kicking him back with a smile.

"Yeah," agreed Stiles. "I didn't think I would ever get to."

"Well," Scott said, "now that we have made all these decisions, I guess we should inform our mates. Or should we just call our parents?"

"I'm sure that would go over well."

\- - - - -

"What do you mean I smell weird?" asked Stiles. He was working with D'Ani in the Beacon Hills kitchen, chopping vegetables for dinner. Y'Sac, the lazy bastard, was just standing there watching them. "I smell the way I always do."

"Maybe that's what Y'Sac means," remarked D'Ani.

Stiles was only vaguely insulted, more pleased at the fact that D'Ani had actually cracked a joke.

"No, I'm serious," said Y'Sac, who leaned in again to get a good sniff of Stiles. "You didn't smell like this yesterday. Maybe it's not weird, just different. But it's weird that it's different. You know?"

Stiles sighed, totally confused. "Whatever."

"Whatever what?" asked Boyd, wandering in. He wrapped an arm around Y'Sac and joined him in leaning against the kitchen counter, apparently joining in the growing sport of watching Stiles and D'Ani prepare dinner.

"Stiles' smell. It's weird," said Y'Sac.

Boyd leaned forward and Stiles could see the flare of his nostrils out of the corner of his eye. "It's different," said Boyd.

"See!" stated Y'Sac triumphantly.

"Boyd is biased," said Stiles. "Get another sniffer in here."

"K'Aura!!!!" Y'Sac called. A few seconds later, K'Aura joined them.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Smell Stiles. He smells weird today," said Y'Sac, pointing. Stiles was beginning to feel like something unpleasant stuck to someone's shoe.

K'Aura leaned slightly forward to take a sniff. Stiles stopped chopping when she leaned in for a second time. Before he could complain, K'Aura ran out of the kitchen. That was weird.

D'Ani kept chopping, but more slowly, and other movement in the kitchen ceased, suspended. K'Aura returned dragging P'Eter behind her.

"Tell me I'm not crazy," K'Aura was saying, "but it smells just like it. I mean, how?"

P'Eter took only two steps into the kitchen before he stopped. His nostrils flared slightly. "You're right. Stiles is pregnant."

"What?" exclaimed Boyd and Y'Sac almost simultaneously.

Stiles stood still, stunned speechless. For a split second, he thought P'Eter might be messing with him. But then he was struck with how unsurprised P'Eter's proclamation made him feel. He and D'Eric had become mates just about six weeks ago, and since that night, it had been one strange body experience after another. First it was sharing the sensations of D'Eric's body. Then it was his increased connection to the pack. Followed by the fact that he then smelled different because he had become D'Eric's mate. That had made it easy to ignore some very significant things.

To begin with, the whole mating sex with D'Eric. It had been super intense, and the feelings of that coupling remained hard to describe. But when they had finally gotten out of bed, there had been no mess on Stiles' part aside from a lot of lube. He had decided not to overthink the fact that three loads of D'Eric's come were nowhere in evidence. So where had it gone? And didn't it feel like D'Eric's essence had joined with his during the mating sex?

Second, about a week after the mating sex, Stiles had felt somewhat queasy every morning for four mornings in a row. It wasn't debilitating, but he had definitely felt like his body was adjusting to something and making him nauseous while it worked it out.

Finally, Stiles had developed a hankering for the tangy sweetness of rhubarb, a vegetable (fruit?) that he normally avoided out of principle because it looked like celery with a bad spray tan. He had been putting rhubarb jam on his morning toast for the last few days.

It now all made sense, and Stiles realized with a start that the thought that he was carrying D'Eric's child filled him with joy. He had no idea how this could be, but this world was very different from his own. How different could it be for a guy to get pregnant?

"You're smiling like an idiot," said K'Aura as she kneeled on the ground in front of Stiles. She pressed her ear against Stiles' stomach, which was just as concave as it always was. For a moment, everyone in the kitchen, who had just a second ago had been voicing their surprise and incredulousness, fell silent. "Holy shit," said K'Aura. "I can hear it."

The moment of silence ruptured, and everyone was talking at once. Y'Sac and Boyd took turns pressing their ears against Stiles' stomach, and Stiles was totally content to let them do it. "How can Stiles be pregnant? He's a guy. He doesn't have the right equipment!" complained Y'Sac, standing up.

"Our little Stiles just continues to surprise, doesn't he?" said P'Eter, who stood to one side, but with his eyes firmly focused on Stiles.

At that moment, Scott, D'Eric, and K'Ira burst through the back door with D'Eric in the lead. "What's wrong, Stiles," asked D'Eric in a rush, moving directly to Stiles' side. "I could feel that something happened."

Stiles just shook his head because, really, nothing was wrong. But he totally could understand why his mate had come rushing.

"Stiles is pregnant," K'Aura said to Scott. "I heard its heart beat."

The noise level in the kitchen rose to deafening levels yet once again at that pronouncement, but Stiles was completely focused on D'Eric, who had turned to stone at his side.

"I can smell it," said D'Eric softly, yet completely audible to Stiles. "You really are." He sounded a bit awed.

Stiles nodded and leaned into D'Eric, who quickly had arms wrapped around him. "I am strangely not freaking out," said Stiles. "I don't know. It just feels right."

D'Eric turned Stiles so that he was looking into his eyes. "You're happy about this?" D'Eric sounded incredulous.

"What's not to be happy about? We're having a baby."

D'Eric's confused face slowly morphed into a smile so big Stiles thought D'Eric's face was going to explode. And then D'Eric pulled him into a kiss, holding him tight against him.

"Oh my god," Stiles heard Scott say. "This can happen?"

"So why haven't Y'Sac or Boyd gotten pregnant?" asked K'Ira. "They're at it all the time."

Y'Sac tried to smack K'Ira on the head, but she deftly ducked out of reach.

"I think we can only say that Stiles is special," said P'Eter. "Stiles' example aside, male werewolves in this world don't get pregnant as a matter of course."

"Wow," said Scott, who had done the ear to Stiles' belly thing. "So that means I'm going to be an uncle, right?"

"Totally," said Stiles, using a hand to ruffle Scott's hair.

"So what are you going to tell your dad?" asked Scott.

"Oh my god," was Stiles' response.

\- - - - -

There had been some arguing about the safety of Stiles' traveling through the portal, but once they all realized that Stiles had been traveling back and forth through the portal for weeks while pregnant, no further objections were made.

"You're sure about this?" asked D'Eric, as their car approached the Stilinski residence in Santa Rosa.

"No," responded Stiles. "But this is too big to hide from him. He needs to know. Not about the Duke and stuff, but he needs to know that I'm a portaljack, and that you're a werewolf, and that you knocked me up, which is why we're going to have a double wedding with K'Aura and Scott over Labor Day weekend."

"Sounds like you have it all thought out," commented D'Eric wryly.

"Honestly," said Stiles, turning off the ignition but staying in the car, "I don't expect this to go well at all."

\- - - - -

His dad was giving him one of those looks. It wasn't the look that meant that he didn't believe him. It was the one where he couldn't believe what Stiles had gotten into - this time. His dad pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, his whole body looking like it was collapsing under the weight of what Stiles had just told him. Good thing his dad was already sitting down.

"I know D'Eric can't prove he's a werewolf because, like, he can't shift in this world," continued Stiles. He was nervous, and when he was nervous, the spigot of verbosity just couldn't be turned off. "But, like, we can go to the hospital, and Mrs. McCall could, like, give me an ultrasound, and you'll be able to see the baby, and then you'll know that everything else is true, too."

"Right," groaned his dad. "The fact that you are pregnant proves that werewolves are real and that you can travel through a portal into a place where a werewolf can get my son pregnant. The logic of that argument makes so much sense."

"Totally," said Stiles, and he was prepared to launch into a further explanation of the logic of his reasoning, but D'Eric gently placed his hand over Stlles' mouth, effectively muzzling him.

"Thank you," said his dad, the traitor. "I don't see you contradicting him, D'Eric."

"No sir." D'Eric shook his head. "I'm here for moral support. And because I did knock up your son."

His dad let his face fall into his hands again. It was actually a bit painful to watch.

"So we want to get married in September before I start to show," Stiles resumed. "I'm thinking I can probably work until Christmas, and then I should go have the baby in D'Eric's world since I don't want to end up on the cover of the National Enquirer here."

"Before you show," muttered his father.

"A double wedding, since Scott and K'Aura are getting married, too."

"Don't tell me that Scott is pregnant, too," his father said archly.

"Please," said Stiles. "I'm the special one. They're just werewolves."

"Right," said his dad.

\- - - - -

Everyone was actually pretty grouchy with everyone else for a while. Scott was mad at Stiles for telling his dad he was a werewolf, and Stiles was mad at Scott because, like, what else could he do since he was already outing D'Eric. K'Aura was mad at Stiles because, even though mating was just a natural outcome, she was well aware that a wedding was a bigger deal and she had not been consulted either on the date or on the larger issue that she and Scott were going to get married. By extension, K'Aura was mad at Scott for making these plans with Stiles in the first place, so Scott was mad at Stiles doubly for getting Scott in trouble with his mate. This, of course, was nothing compared to Mr. Stilinski just quietly freaking out over the whole thing and Scott's mom screaming at both of them, asking when they were planning to tell her any of this.

But all through the brouhaha, D'Eric was at Stiles' side, sure and steady, calm and reassuring. So, all in all, things actually were good.

Two weeks after Stiles' big confession to his dad, Scott and K'Aura and Stiles and D'Eric all returned to Santa Rosa, Scott and Stiles to get the chewing out they knew was inevitable, and like getting a shot, just had to be lived through, but more importantly, to have Mrs. McCall smuggle them into the obstetrics unit of the hospital after hours to do Stiles' ultrasound.

When they saw the tiny being in the black and white image, a tiny head with eyes and nubby ears, its miniscule heart pumping away, a little body with what would be arms and legs someday but just nubby growths at this point, everything else fell away. Mrs. McCall just held her hands in front of her face, her eyes open in wonder. Stiles' dad tried to look calm about the whole thing, but Stiles' could see him swallow repeatedly in order to reign himself in. Scott and K'Aura took each other's hand. And D'Eric just let the tears of happiness roll down his face as he wrapped himself around Stiles.

"It's incredible," said Mrs. McCall. She pointed to the image. "You have a uterus, Stiles, and over here is a partial birth canal. How do you feel?"

"A little different, but more or less the same. I don't even feel the little guy...or gal," said Stiles, watching the beating of the embryo's heart.

Mrs. McCall clicked the mouse of the computer workstation, and a short time later, two prints of the ultrasound image came out of the printer. She handed them to D'Eric, who took them with obviously shaking hands.

"So," Mrs. McCall said, breaking the reverent silence, "what's this I hear about a double wedding?"

\- - - - -

To say that life for the next two months was chaotic was an understatement. The wolves went crazy over the ultrasound pictures, and when Stiles had casually mentioned that they would be getting married in his world in early September, all of the wolves, including P'Eter, insisted that they absolutely had to attend.

K'Aura brought back bridal magazines, and she and K'Ira went as psychotically crazy over wedding dresses and cakes and the perfect centerpieces as any bride from Stiles' world, this in spite of the fact that both couples agreed that they would get married at the courthouse in Santa Rosa.

The fact that all the wolves were going to attend made the logistics of a quiet ceremony in Santa Rosa much more complicated, and both Stiles' dad and Scott's mom realized that there would be just too much explaining to do if they held the ceremony in town, especially since they had not intended to invite any of their friends or co-workers. In the end, they all decided to get married in San Francisco's grand City Hall, and Stiles duly made the marriage appointment to get married at the top of the regal marble staircase under the rotunda.

K'Aura brought K'Ira with her on one of her trips to San Francisco, and the two refused to show anyone what they had bought to wear for the wedding. They did, however, admit that they had decided not to go with a mermaid silhouette.

Stiles asked D'Eric what men wore to formal occasions in Beacon Hills, and when D'Eric took out one of his suits, Stiles just gushed. It was cut a little looser than was currently in fashion in San Francisco, but the tailoring was so clearly hand-done, with fine stitching along the lapels and hand-carved mother-of-pearl buttons, not to mention the vest done in strips of the suit fabric alternating with shimmering strips of dark grey silk. It was absolutely perfect, and Stiles insisted that the wolves all wear their Beacon Hills' finery (actually, D'Ani, Boyd, and Y'Sac would need to get their first suits). They would look so amazingly cool.

The pregnancy and the upcoming nuptials also seemed to bring D'Ani fully back to life. He became a bit of a majordomo as far as preparations for the baby were concerned, making plans for the nursery, where Stiles would give birth, even though that event was half a year away. He conferred with Boyd and Y'Sac about the furnishings and layout for the soon-to-be-converted extra bedroom, and he immersed himself in reading about nutritious recipes for a pregnant person in addition to possible home remedies to ease one through the pregnancy. Stiles was happy to see their pack whole and well (although he still missed E'Rica's snark), and he didn't mind at all that D'Eric would creep up on him throughout the day to hug him from behind.

And then, in the middle of July, to add to the excitement, it became apparent (to all the wolves, at least - Stiles, again, was the last to know) that K'Aura was also pregnant. The pack was not only whole and well, it was growing. D'Eric was one happy Alpha, and a happy Alpha meant lots of happy times for the Alpha's mate.

The wedding day approached. Stiles and Scott reserved a private room for their party of eleven at a restaurant on nearby Hayes Street and booked out all of the five rooms in a nearby B&B. And Stiles' dad, using his connections in Santa Rosa, presented Scott and Stiles with forged birth certificates for 'Derek' and 'Cora' Hale so that they could register properly.

The ceremony was very simple. A set of standard vows, overseen by a very grandmotherly yet youthful justice of the peace named Betty. But it was amazing all the same. Stiles and Scott had decided to go totally hipster and bought nearly identical and very skinny dark blue suits at Bloomingdales. From the looks on D'Eric's and K'Aura's faces, Stiles figured they had done well, and this was confirmed by how often he felt D'Eric's fingers running over his very snugly clad posterior. K'Aura had gone with a washed silk sheath in peach (Stiles had been peaking at those bridal magazines), and K'Ira complemented her in a sheath in pale blue that added a wide panel around the waist. As he had expected, the Beacon Hills contingent looked totally cool in their finery, and there were quite a few not quite surreptitious cell phone pics taken by tourists in City Hall. A new fashion trend in the making.

It was just a ceremony, but Stiles found himself all teary-eyed all the same. He was in good company, including his total marshmallow of a (now) husband and his dad, who just gave him a quiet hug when Przejscie Stilinski and Derek Hale and Scott McCall and Cora Hale had all finished saying "I do."

Dinner was a bit more boisterous than anticipated as the wolves enjoyed the novelty of getting a bit more than tipsy, but it was filled with love, and Stiles couldn't have been happier.

And if nine of the party of eleven that had booked out the B&B slept in an enormous pile on the California King in the large suite at the top of the renovated Victorian that night, no one really cared. It was San Francisco, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for your comments and kudos. One chapter to go, but in true Teen Wolf fashion, don't take happy times for granted!


	18. Baby Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for the "season finale." And I added one more chapter to finish things off.

Christmas rolled around again, and what a difference a year made. The Hale house was bursting at the seams with people, and D'Eric wouldn't have it any other way.

The Sheriff and Mrs. McCall had managed to get the three days off leading up to Christmas, so they had made the journey through the portal and then on to Beacon Hills to spend the holiday with the whole pack. Both of their work places had been incredulous that they would not even be reachable by cell phone.

Stiles had definitely acquired the roundness of pregnancy, and all of the wolves took turns cuddling up to Stiles to listen to the little girl (the ultrasounds had eventually revealed the baby's gender) and feel her move around inside her birth parent. D'Eric couldn't deny that he did this all the time in the privacy of their bedroom, but he left the public obsession over Stiles' growing abdomen to his pack members. D'Ani looked to have fully recovered, and he plied Stiles with teas and herbal ointments to reduce the discomfort to his back, not to mention the stretching of the skin over his abdomen. K'Aura was clearly pregnant at this point, but Stiles' bulge dwarfed hers. D'Eric did his best to hide his pride in his very pregnant mate, but given the looks his uncle and sister gave him, he was sure he was failing miserably. And for the first time in his life, D'Eric felt adored simply for being himself. Stiles still teased him endlessly about his stubble or his broody eyebrows, but behind every teasing comment was such love. Stiles made him feel loved every second of the day. How could he have gotten so lucky?

It was a joyous time, in spite of the fact that E'Rica's absence was still very much felt (even P'Eter had no chance of being as snarky as E'Rica). The Sheriff and Mrs. McCall commented that this felt like such an old-fashioned Christmas, and both of them were a bit surprised at how little they missed the technologies of their world, like television and electric lights. Mrs. McCall did grumble a bit about not having a blow dryer, but it sounded like she was joking. Kind of.

After Christmas, D'Eric worried that Stiles would get a bit restless trapped on the Hale property without his work and his devices, so he was greatly relieved that Stiles seemed perfectly content with walks around the wooded property and helping out with whatever needed to be done.

"Stop worrying," Stiles told him one night in mid-January. They were already in bed, and it was an understatement to say that Stiles was enormous. Objectively, Stiles' body looked very odd - almost like the hat-shaped snake from one of the books Stiles had shared with him. But odd or not, D'Eric thought he was beautiful.

"I'm not worrying," D'Eric insisted, threading his fingers together across his chest.

Stiles was already lying on his side, facing him. Stiles put a finger on D'Eric's nose. "You are worrying. Stop it. Everything is good. Mrs. McCall has us all prepared - well, as prepared as we can be for a magically-induced birth. The pack is good because its Alpha has the most amazing mate and is happy beyond belief."

D'Eric kissed the finger at his nose. "The Alpha is definitely happy."

"Well, he definitely has reason to be," smiled Stiles.

D'Eric was thoughtful.

"Okay," said Stiles. "Good. You don't have your 'I'm worried' face on anymore, and I can feel you aren't worried. But now you have your 'I'm thinking' face, which doesn't have a feeling exactly, but I'm not really sure which face is actually more concerning."

"I was just wondering how we were going to raise her. Do you think she'll be confused, going between worlds? She's probably going to be a werewolf, but she'll only be a werewolf in this world. It was kind of disorienting for all of us, when we went into your world. She'll be just a child."

Stiles turned away from him. "Come on," he said, patting the space between them, now at his back. "I want wolfy cuddles if we're going to have serious conversation time."

D'Eric turned and wrapped himself around Stiles' back. He couldn't help but rest his hands on the bump, and Stiles settled his hands on D'Eric's.

"I think," said Stiles, "you forget how resilient children are. Think of the things we lived through as kids, and we came out the other side. For our daughter, it'll be like being bilingual. We think it's a big deal because we grew up with only one language. She'll have two from the get go. It'll be totally natural to her."

D'Eric hesitated. He had been thinking about this for a while, but he hadn't wanted to bring it up. It seemed so unfair to Stiles. "Where do you think we'll be living - most of the time."

Stiles let out a small laugh. "You are so transparent, D'Eric. We'll be living here, of course. She'll need her pack, and she'll need to learn how to be a werewolf, and she can't do that in my world."

"But what about your job?" asked D'Eric, almost afraid to ask.

"I'm going to quit. As you said, it's a 'job'. It's not a career."

"You're going to quit?" asked D'Eric, surprised.

"Decided almost as soon as I went on paternity leave. We can't be jumping back and forth with an infant in tow. We are definitely going back on a regular basis to give my dad his dziadek time, but I can't be working and juggling two homes that are hours and hours apart."

"Jah-what?" asked D'Eric.

"'Grandfather', in Polish. He's been teaching me a few choice words that our daughter must know."

"You've thought all this out, haven't you?" said D'Eric before kissing lightly along the nape of Stiles' neck.

"Exemplary mate, that's me," sighed Stiles in contentment. He sighed a lot when D'Eric kissed his neck.

"You're giving up everything for me," murmured D'Eric, a bit overwhelmed to know Stiles had already decided to give up his job.

"Nothing compared to what I have," said Stiles happily, wriggling a little closer to D'Eric.

"Best mate ever," said D'Eric.

"Totally," agreed Stiles.

\- - - - -

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," gasped Stiles, as another contraction twisted his body in knots. It was like having a cramp to beat all cramps, and he couldn't help but tense up when it happened. It had started in the middle of the night, and now it was almost midday. Stiles was way ready for this part of having a baby to be over.

He was lying in bed, just like he had been when the first contraction had hit. He had jolted awake, and instantly, D'Eric had been there, a concerned hand resting on his shoulder.

About fifteen minutes later, there was another contraction, followed by a serious wetness between his legs. Stiles had thought he had peed himself, but when D'Eric had helped him to the bathroom to clean himself off, Stiles found that his magically-induced womb now had a magically-induced birth canal as well with an opening in-between his cock and his anus. It was totally weird.

Before Stiles had even wiped himself off, there was knocking on the door of the bedroom - the wolves.

The last twelve hours had passed with annoying slowness. He walked around, which had already been a bit of a trial even without the contractions, but it helped to keep his muscles from tensing up. There was always a wolf with him, if not two, not to mention a very overprotective mate. Stiles finally told D'Eric that he needed to start exuding reassurance and calmness. His nervousness was not helping at all, especially since Stiles could pick up on it so clearly. D'Eric decided to periodically vacate the room to work off some of his tension, probably running in the woods.

Little by little, the contractions became more frequent. It was totally a shock when his water broke and a cascade of liquid flowed down his legs. But all the wolves remembered the lessons from Mrs. McCall and simply led him back to the bathroom to clean up while someone else took care of the mess.

The epitome of calm was D'Ani. He was there with water, damp towels to wipe Stiles' sweat-slicked brow, and a steady reminder to breathe. He wasn't a fool, though. He let a wolf hold Stiles' hand when the contractions hit and Stiles needed something to clamp down on.

Now the contractions were almost continual, and Stiles cursed frequently from the bed. He felt rather nauseous, and his back hurt something fierce. D'Eric held on to his hand, and the connection helped to dull the pain. The wolves had now been banished to the hallway to keep them out from underfoot. It was just D'Ani, acting as midwife majordomo, and D'Eric in the room. There was never going to be an easy way to communicate with his dad when the contractions started, so he didn’t expect his dad to be there.

While there wasn't an exact match to a woman's anatomy, D'Ani was keeping an eye on the opening to Stiles' birth canal, watching as it dilated. Stiles could feel the impulse to start pushing, but D'Ani told him to just breathe and hold off a little while longer. For some reason, it didn't even feel strange to have D'Ani looking at his nether regions. Stiles was sure it wasn't sexy in the least.

"Okay," said D'Ani at last, holding his fingers apart and judging the distance critically. "It looks like it's the right size. Stiles, you can start pushing."

Stiles moaned. It felt like his whole body was going to explode, and definitely not in a good way. He couldn't help but think of the movie, 'Alien.' Pushing down felt good, but then another contraction hit.

"Fuck," Stiles said, as a sudden wave of nausea swept over him. "Shit. I think I'm going to hurl."

D'Ani reached for a ceramic bowl and held it in place while Stiles vomited. Stiles groaned as he let his head flop back on his clammy pillow.

There was a fumbling sound and an aborted cry.

"Damn, I'm sorry," said D'Ani. Stiles looked over and could see that the contents of the bowl had splashed messily all over the front of D'Eric's shirt and pants.

"Don't worry," said D'Eric with amazing calm. "I'll just go rinse out the bowl and wipe myself off. I'll be right back." He leaned over and gave Stiles a kiss on the forehead. Stiles smiled weakly.

Stiles just let his eyes close, enjoying the momentary respite from his body. And then he heard the door to the bedroom close.

He opened his eyes, wondering why D'Eric had closed the door behind him, but he was actually alone in the room with D'Ani. Immediately, Stiles could sense that something was not quite right. Stiles looked to the door, and he could see the knob of the door rattling, but the door remained shut, and there were no sounds from the hallway.

"What's going on?" rasped Stiles, just before another contraction hit. He couldn't avoid the need to bear down, and he suddenly felt the child inside him shift slightly.

"You are having a baby," said D'Ani. The voice sounded like D'Ani's, but suddenly the cadence wasn't quite right. Yet it sounded familiar.

"Where's D'Eric?" asked Stiles, feeling a tendril of anxiety wrap around him.

"He is in the hallway," smiled D'Ani, "undoubtedly quite alarmed that he cannot get back into the room. But I made very sure that no werewolf or magical creature would be able to get through."

Stiles groaned as his body shuddered through another wave of pain and nausea. He pushed again.

"You are doing very well, Stiles. It will not be long before the head will appear."

The tone was definitely not D'Ani. It had a lilt of condescension, not to mention a menacing undertone. He had heard that voice before. And then it came to him. "Why do you sound like the Duke?" Stiles was very much afraid of the answer.

"I am so glad you recognized me, even though I am in a different wrapper." The expression that warped D'Ani's face was clearly the Duke. It looked unnatural to see that supercilious expression on D'Ani's gentle features.

"I don't understand," said Stiles, the tendrils of anxiety multiplying and tightening into fear. "What happened to D'Ani?"

The Duke was staring between Stiles' legs. "Soon." He looked up, and the Duke's eyes met Stiles'. "I am afraid you lost D'Ani many months ago. But he was very useful to me."

"You fucker," said Stiles with an involuntary cry at the end as he pushed again. "What did you do with him?"

The Duke smiled. "You never suspected, did you?"

"Suspect what?" asked Stiles, breathing heavily.

The Duke laughed. "T'Alia and your mother were not the only ones to work with magic and witches. When I heard D'Eric Hale was returning to Beacon Hills and eager to build a new pack, I knew I needed to have a spy in the pack. But it is hard to hide things from one's Alpha, even when one is just human."

"D'Ani was your spy?" asked Stiles, incredulous. "I don't believe it."

The Duke shrugged. "The best spies are those that do not know that they are. D'Ani did not know it, but he became my eyes, literally."

Stiles remembered the Duke's blank sockets. "How?" he asked.

"A witch's spell, of course. She took my eyes and magicked them into D'Ani. From that point on, everything D'Ani saw, I saw. Since he did not know he was my spy, D'Eric didn't know either."

Stiles felt hollow and wrung out, and his body and the bed were soaked with sweat. He shuddered, and he felt the need to push again. He groaned after the effort.

"It was very lucky that D'Ani was there when you and D'Eric put the ultimate portal together," the Duke continued. "I could feel the power, but it felt a little off - like it was pulling at me. At the last moment, I used my connection to D'Ani to change bodies. It was D'Ani that went into the portal and was destroyed."

"So this has been you all this time?"

"Biding my time, my clever little portaljack." The Duke paused. "I confess I was a bit depressed to find myself in a human body with no way out." The Duke smiled. "And then you did me the great favor of becoming pregnant. A perfect solution."

Stiles stared at the Duke in alarm. This all had to do with their baby.

"I can see it in your eyes, Stiles," said the Duke gently. "You know I am going to take your baby."

"No," gasped Stiles. "You can't." He wanted to throw himself off the bed and drag his ass to the door, but his body wouldn't listen to him.

"The child of a portaljack and a werewolf. The Alpha, no less. It's hard to imagine a body more worthy to contain me."

"But you'll be a baby," cried Stiles. "You'll be defenseless."

The Duke looked amused. "But no one would harm a baby, Stiles. And no one in this room will still be alive to tell anyone the truth."

Stiles realized the Duke was going to kill him. He couldn't let any of this happen, but he didn't know what to do. There were no weapons at hand, and struggle as he might, his limbs were exhausted.

"I am very good at preparing, Stiles," said the Duke. "As good as, no, better than T'Alia Hale. And nine months is such a leisurely amount of time to plan." He walked around the room, trailing his fingers along the walls. "To imbue the walls with a spell to prevent magical beings from being able to enter the room." He walked back to Stiles and placed his hand on Stiles' exposed belly. "To create a connection to your unborn child so that when she emerges, I can claim her body."

Stiles was filled with horror, but again, he had to close his eyes as he felt the need to push down. Suddenly, he could feel the body inside him move.

"Excellent, Stiles. I can see the top of her head. We just need to make sure that she will survive, and then I am afraid, I will have to kill you."

D'Ani - the Duke - turned to the table next to him on which there were towels and other birthing supplies. Including a sharp knife, much more like a dagger. He held it up to the light. "Ostensibly to cut the umbilical cord, but it will work as a murder weapon as well."

The Duke ran his finger along the blade. "When your daughter's head has breached the opening, I will slit your throat. And as you bleed out, I will take over your daughter's body. The poor thing is so weak that I will just overwhelm her spirit, and she will be gone. And once I leave D'Ani's body, it will die. The spell, which is tied to D'Ani's body, will be broken, and the wolves will break in to the room to find their beloved Stiles with his throat slit, and the body of his killer dead on the floor. The only survivor will be the child, which they will nurture and raise, and one day, she will turn on all of them and become even more powerful than I was before."

Stiles wanted to stop time, but he couldn't. He couldn't stop himself from pushing again, and he could feel it when the head of his daughter emerged fully from his body. He didn't know what to do, and he panicked at the thought of leaving D'Eric like this, alone and with a monster hiding in his daughter, ready to finish destroying him one day.

The Duke approached, holding the knife. Instinctively, Stiles raised his hands, if feebly, to try and block him.

"Do not worry, Stiles. I will be quick." With a sudden movement, the Duke had wrapped one arm around Stiles’ jaw and pulled his head back, baring his throat.

Stiles’ hands reached up to try and pull the Duke’s arm off, but his grip was weak, and he feebly beat at the Duke’s arm even as he sensed his other arm poised to draw the blade across his throat. Suddenly, Stiles' eyes were drawn to the red stone ring on his flailing right hand. In these final moments, it seemed to glow.

There was a flash of light, perhaps a reflection off the blade of the knife, and Stiles closed his eyes as the Duke’s grip tightened.

"Stiles!"

Stiles opened his eyes as he was jerked backwards and nearly off the side of the bed. For a moment, he was totally disoriented. Wasn't that D'Eric's voice?

There was a crack and the arms of the Duke relinquished their hold, and Stiles fell back against the bed. And when he looked to where the Duke had been moments before, he was greeted by the very welcome face of his mate, his anxious wolfed out mate, red eyes and extended snout and sharp canines and hair for days, fear rolling off of him in waves.

"Stiles, did D'Ani hurt you?" D'Eric was changing back, and the claws retracted as he wrapped his hands around Stiles' shoulders. Stiles was gripped by another clench of muscles, and he pushed again.

"Oh my god. I can see her head and shoulders!" It was Scott. Apparently, all the wolves had entered the room.

Turning to Stiles, D’Eric tried to be reassuring, but Stiles could sense his nervousness. "It's almost over, Stiles."

"Another push," cried Scott. "You've got this." He was such a cheerleader.

Stiles closed his eyes and pushed again, and suddenly, it felt as if his body was released. He kept his eyes closed. He had no idea what had happened, but he was still alive. He was still here for D'Eric and their daughter.

There was a hubbub of activity, murmurs of joy mixed with confusion, and through it all, D'Eric was sitting on the bed beside him, a hand brushing against his brow, telling him how much he loved him. There was a cry, and Stiles knew it was their daughter, taking her first breath of air and evidently not liking it overmuch. Stiles opened his eyes then, and the first thing he saw was the wonder in D'Eric's eyes as K'Aura handed him his daughter, clean and lightly wrapped in a white blanket.

"She's perfect," said D'Eric, looking down at the bundle in his arms. He immediately turned and leaned over so that Stiles could see their daughter as well.

"She is," Stiles agreed. He lifted a hand and lightly touched their daughter's cheek. She wriggled, and Stiles smiled. Then he saw the ring on his finger.

He looked up from the ring at D'Eric. "What happened?" he asked.

"Don't think about that, now," said D'Eric, his eyes moist. "For now, let's just focus on her."

\- - - - -

D'Eric had held onto both Stiles and their daughter while the other wolves changed the bed and freshened the room. Then D'Eric put Stiles back into the bed, and before Stiles knew it, he was asleep. 

When Stiles awoke, it was to the sight of D'Eric nursing their daughter from a bottle. A magical womb he might have had, but the magic had not extended to lactation.

D'Eric looked at him from his seat by the window and smiled.

Stiles could sense that the wolves were nearby, but for the moment, it was quiet and peaceful in their room. "So, are you going to tell me what happened? How did you get through the magic barrier?"

A pained expression filled D'Eric's face, and immediately the baby let out a cry.

"Now you have to worry about both of us knowing what's up with you," said Stiles wryly. "Come on. I'm still here. What happened?"

D'Eric gulped. "I couldn't figure out what was happening. I heard the door close behind me, and when I turned to open it, I couldn't. The other wolves joined me, and we couldn't get through. I panicked. I couldn't feel anything from the room - I didn't know what was happening.

"I don't know how long it was, but by then, all of us were freaked out. We were all in our half-wolf forms, clawing at the walls. Y'Sac and Boyd had gone outside, and were trying to get up to the window. And then I felt this tingling between my shoulder blades, and suddenly, there was this portal in front of me, opening into the room. And I could see D'Ani holding you with a knife poised at your throat, and I couldn't figure out why, but I knew he was going to hurt you, and I had to stop him.

"And I flew through the portal, stlll not understanding why D’Ani would want to hurt you, and then he looked at me with surprise and anger, and I could see him tighten his grip on you, and the hand holding the knife twitched, and I didn't think. I just threw myself at him because I needed to get him away from you. B’Oyd took D’Ani’s body away. He later told me I had broken his neck."

At that, D'Eric was silent. The baby was still fussing, clearly unhappy at the emotions she was sensing off of D'Eric.

"It was the Duke, you know," said Stiles, and he explained what had happened inside the room.

During the recitation, D'Eric crawled onto the bed next to Stiles, holding their daughter on his chest. Stiles ran a hand up and down the tiny back, their daughter already sleeping.

"So it was a portal," said Stiles softly, his eyes on their daughter.

"I had to get to you," said D'Eric. "And suddenly it was there."

Stiles leaned over and kissed D'Eric. He shifted lower on the bed, and allowed his head to rest on D'Eric's chest, next to the face of their slumbering daughter. He felt the warmth of his mate's body fill him and fell asleep.


	19. The Epilogue, Really

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, for the comments, and for the kudos.

"Tata, I think I want to keep the animals. L'Ira can have the princess."

Stiles was watching their daughter, T'Aura, contemplate the two boxes of Duplo on her lap. They had bought the two sets at Target, one for her and one for her cousin L'Ira. She had changed her mind as to which set she was going to keep at least three times since they had left his dad's house. Now they were heading down to Richmond to cross through the portal.

"What do you think papa?" She looked up from the boxes and waited for D'Eric's reply from the front seat.

"You already have two princesses but no lions," said D'Eric, "so I think you should keep the animals."

"But I don't have the blue princess. Just the pink princess and the purple princess."

"Logic is not going to get you anywhere," chuckled Stiles, and he leaned forward to ruffle the back of D'Eric's hair.

"What do you think dziadek?"

"I paid for the Duplo, so I don't have to give an opinion," said Stiles' dad, who was driving. "You have two dads to help you make up your mind."

"They're no help," said T'Aura grumpily, shaking the two boxes.

"I've noticed," he said.

T'Aura continued to talk softly to herself, tracing the animals and the princess on the boxes with her finger.

Three years had gone by, and life had settled into a rhythm, well, as much of a rhythm as life with two three-year-olds and a toddler who had just learned to walk could maintain. K'Aura and Scott also had a baby girl in the summer of that same year, and they had named her L'Ira, after K'Aura and D'Eric's sister. T'Aura had been a merging of the names of D'Eric and Stiles' moms. Just about a year ago, K'Aura and Scott had had a second child, this time a boy. They had named him E'Ric in memory of E'Rica, but D'Eric noted that his name was in there, too.

The pack was doing well, and its three youngest members kept the older members constantly on their toes. Altogether, there were now eleven members in the pack, thirteen if you counted his dad and Scott's mom. The pack was stable enough that K'Ira had come through to Stiles' world and was now in Japan, finding out more about kitsune legends. She was also keeping her ears and eyes open about possible portals in other countries. Life was comprised of just the usual challenges of raising kids and taking care of the property and work - no crazy Alpha out to destroy their pack, just the ordinary. Well the teething issue with all three kids wasn't quite ordinary, but even so.

Two months ago, T'Aura had experienced her first partial shift during the full moon. There was an abundance of excitement over the fact that tiny little claws had appeared, along with a little extra facial hair. T'Aura had run around the house growling for days afterwards, and D'Eric could not have been a prouder father.

T'Aura and L'Ira were the queens of the house, and they were nearly inseparable except when they had a disagreement over whose teddy bear was smarter or which princess was more fierce - Mulan or Merida. They were surrounded by the pack, and if the pack members let them get away with things more often than Stiles would have liked, he couldn't argue that they were growing up in the confidence of being loved.

Stiles and Scott had essentially moved into K'Aura and D'Eric's world, including giving up their coveted apartment. Instead of inspecting historical buildings, Stiles was now doing what he really enjoyed, research, on a project by project basis. He had only had a few clients so far, but he was developing a reputation in the Hishman Bay Area for having a unique perspective. Stiles laughed at that. Scott had joined a veterinary practice in Beacon Hills, and he specialized in canines (of course). D'Eric also realized that without the need to fight off the Oakston Pack, he, too, could return to to holding a job. He had worked in logistics back in New Amsterdam, and it wasn't hard to reach out to local businesses and industries to offer his services.

They traveled between the worlds more often than they would have guessed they would. The portal that D'Eric generated to save Stiles turned out to be linked to the triskelion on his back and the dragon's eye. When D'Eric and Stiles both focused, they could open a portal to link wherever they happened to be, in whichever world they happened to be. Most of the time, Stiles made the trip back to his dad's with Scott, and once he was there, he would open the portal that allowed D'Eric, K'Aura, the kids, and whoever happened to want to come across and visit. Unfortunately, once they were in the same place, he and D'Eric couldn't use the portal as a short cut, so there was always some travel involved at least one way. This time, it had just been Stiles and family, and they had decided to travel both directions together. Stiles would use the the newly restored portal in Richmond to cross over, and then he and D'Eric would open a portal to get him and T'Aura across somewhere more private.

The ceramic dragon at the Richmond BART station had been repaired after about six months. During the same time period, the mall in Sacramento had been razed for the new downtown sports stadium, so there was no access to the Land Before Death from this world - not that Stiles really cared to return. The stadium was almost complete, and it would be interesting the see if a dragon did manifest itself somehow in the new stadium.

As for the dragon columns in the basement in Chinatown, the initially functioning one remained there, and the storefront remained cursed with bad luck - at least for the moment. Stiles had taken the second column, along with all the pieces of broken ceramic he could find, and he had quite satisfactorily put back together the dragon's head with a liberal amount of super glue. He had then successfully tested the second column. This was followed by distance testing in a rented van, and he and Scott found out that the portal could be generated in a roughly 16-block area. The second column was now stored in his dad's garage for safe keeping.

One of the most frequent visitors to Stiles' world was P'Eter. Stiles still wasn't sure what P'Eter's fascination with his world was, but P'Eter had been particularly interested in medical procedures and had begun to spend a considerable amount of time with Mrs. McCall. Stiles was quite sure there was nothing going on between P'Eter and Melissa McCall, but his dad had started to step up his game with Mrs. McCall, and Stiles and Scott both found the whole situation slightly awkward even as it was hilarious.

When K'Aura had gotten pregnant with E'Ric, Stiles had had a period when he wished he could get pregnant again. However, it hadn't happened, and Stiles had been okay with that. How could he not be when he and D'Eric had such a fantastic daughter? A fantastic daughter who had dropped both Duplo boxes on the floor and was getting increasingly fidgety. Never a good sign.

"Hey, boo, what's up?" asked Stiles, using one of the many nicknames he had for his daughter.

T'Aura gave up a big sigh, and Stiles felt a bit guilty about who she had copied that from. "Are we going to get there soon?"

"Not long now," said D'Eric from the front seat.

"Do you want a snack?" asked Stiles, reaching for his backpack. "Or how about your book?"

T'Aura shook her head. "Can I see your red rock?"

Stiles shrugged and put the backpack back on the floor by his feet. He pulled out the round red stone and handed it to his daughter.

"Do you have the dragon, too?" she asked. "I want to practice."

Stiles, indeed, had the square ceramic tile in his jacket pocket. He pulled it out and glanced at it before handing it over.

Immediately, T'Aura began taking the red stone and touching the spot on the dragon's head where its eye was before pulling the stone away again. Stiles smiled. Kids were definitely always watching.

Suddenly, there was a slight disturbance to the air right in front of T'Aura, almost in the back of his dad's seat. Stiles blinked, but the waviness in the air was still there. T'Aura seemed to be oblivious to it.

Stiles was just about to open his mouth to say something to D'Eric, but just as suddenly, the disturbance disappeared.

"Here, tata. I'm done." T'Aura held out the stone and tile to him.

Stiles took them both and looked at his daughter, who was now looking out the window and humming. He turned his head and looked at the familiar shape of his husband's head. His dad was focused on the road. Stiles shook his head and smiled. There was no point rushing things. He sat back in his seat and decided to just enjoy the rest of the ride.


End file.
